


The Boy and the Sleeping Prince

by phoenixacid, Writcraft



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Artist Harry Potter, Dark Magic, Dreams and Nightmares, Ex-Auror Harry Potter, Fairy Tale Elements, Fanart, Fanmix, H/D Career Fair 2014, HP: EWE, M/M, Magic Mirrors, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Post-Deathly Hallows, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Sleeping Beauty Elements, Snarky Draco Malfoy, Trapped, Writer Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:54:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2214810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixacid/pseuds/phoenixacid, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is miserable and tired of being an Auror, coasting through life until he’s forced to make some changes.  Spurred on by his passion for drawing and working with best-selling author Draco Malfoy, Harry develops a charm which gives children a magical, interactive reading experience.  But when it’s time to test the spell, the two men find themselves trapped in a nightmarish fairy tale world.  Can they escape unscathed, or is Draco right in his assertions that there is no such thing as a happily ever after?</p><p><b>Career Choices:</b> Harry: Illustrator; Draco: Writer</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Boy and the Sleeping Prince

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vaysh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaysh/gifts).



> For [Prompt # 51](http://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/74208.html?thread=3505888#t3505888).
> 
> Story by Writcraft.  
> Illustrations by Phoenixacid.
> 
> This fanwork was a labour of love for both of us, and we had an absolute blast collaborating together. It was so much fun plotting, working on the art and the fic while chatting about dark fairy tales and choosing songs for the fanmix. We hope you enjoy the fanwork as much as we enjoyed producing it. Many thanks to the wonderful Sophie_French who gave up her time to give the story a thorough beta and to the awesome Vaysh for the additional proof-read and the prompt. All remaining mistakes are the author’s own. Last but not least, thank you Rinny, Charlie and Joan for keeping the artist sane throughout this process and thanks to the mods for hosting this awesome fest. 
> 
> The fanwork posts in three chapters. The first contains _The Boy and the Sleeping Prince_ and accompanying illustrations, the second is a fairy tale inspired by _The Boy and the Sleeping Prince_ (which contains spoilers for the fic itself) and the final chapter consist of a fanmix and the compilation of fanart.

 

 

 

Olim

 

 

_“Little Alice fell down the hole, and bumped her head and bruised her soul”_

_Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland_

 

“You came.” Malfoy’s words catch on his lips, pulled away from him with a sudden gust of wind.

“I said I would.” Harry sits opposite Malfoy and takes in his slender frame, covered with rags and dirt. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“It’s all your fault.” Malfoy’s eyes narrow and he leans forward, speaking with a hiss. “Father’s going to be Kissed. You can stop it. You can speak for him.”

“Nobody's being Kissed anymore. The Ministry won’t work with Dementors after they defected.” Harry recognises the signs of a headache coming on and speaks with less conviction than he would like.

“That’s what you think,” Malfoy spits. “Your precious Ministry isn’t half as good as you think it is – perhaps it’s not Kingsley Shacklebolt, but there are plenty of guards here still prepared to make sure Azkaban prisoners get whatever they think is coming to them. I need you to speak for my father.”

“Believe me, I’ve tried.” Harry rubs his forehead to try to alleviate the dull ache which spreads across his temple and down to the base of his neck. “There’s nothing to be done. The Ministry won’t listen.”

“They have to listen to you!” Malfoy’s voice raises, edged with hysteria. “You saved the world – they have to listen.”

“But they won’t.” A bitter laugh escapes Harry’s lips before he can catch it. “I’m only seventeen.”

“Old enough to die for them,” Malfoy points out. “Shacklebolt can stop it. He must.”

“His position is precarious, he’s not certain his voice carries enough weight at the moment.” Harry’s heart clenches in his chest as the wind sweeps through Azkaban and catches Malfoy’s hair, making it lift and fall until it settles in disarray around Malfoy’s face – slim and streaked with dirt and tears.

“You’re going to let him die.” Malfoy settles back with a thud and his eyes narrow and shine in the half-light of the early morning. “You’re going to let father die and leave me here to rot. Some hero you are, Potter.”

Harry grits his teeth and shakes his head to clear the fog that seems to cloud his vision. “I’ve told you, I’m doing what I can – I’m doing _everything_ I can. This isn’t just about you, Malfoy. Goyle, Parkinson, Zabini and half of Slytherin are under suspicion whether it’s deserved or not...” Harry trails off and sighs, clutching onto the piece of parchment in his hand. “It’s all here. All of the people who still need to stand trial. All of the people we need to help get a fair hearing, to at least give them a fighting chance at normality after all of this.”

“That’s no concern of mine.” Malfoy looks at the parchment nevertheless, visibly distressed. “I don’t want father to die.”

“No.” Harry wonders when his voice became so weary and he closes his eyes momentarily as the wind continues to whip through Azkaban. “Neither do I.”

 

“Lucius Malfoy’s out of Azkaban.” Ron drops the paper down on Harry’s desk and pulls off his robes, his expression serious. “They’re saying you spoke on his behalf.”

“I did.” Harry frowns at the picture of Lucius smirking at the cameras and pushes the paper away, a wave of nausea rising in his stomach. “I had to, you know I did. The Death Eaters that have been thrown into Azkaban aren't being released, whether we like it or not. I don’t believe in the death penalty, particularly when vigilantes are taking it upon themselves to implement it in the hopes the Ministry will turn a blind eye.”

“He’s not going to thank you for it.” Ron shrugs and collapses onto the seat opposite Harry’s desk with a sigh. “But I suppose that’s what you do – save people. Even when they don’t deserve it.”

“You’d have done the same,” Harry mutters.

Ron grimaces and shakes his head. “Maybe. Not sure, if I’m honest.”

“How’s Hermione?” Harry changes the subject and looks up to meet Ron’s gaze.

“We’re fighting. All of the bloody time.” Ron looks downcast and brushes some dust from the sleeves of his tunic. “I thought this would be good for us both – working with the Ministry, fighting crime. But we never have any time for each other anymore and we can’t agree on anything.”

“We all need time to adjust.” Harry picks up some parchment and turns it so Ron can see his latest sketch. “We’ll be alright.”

Ron turns the picture over in his hands with a faint smile. “That picture’s from Bill’s wedding. Was it really only two years ago?” He runs his fingers over the sketch. “We all look so young.”

“We were.” Harry’s smile fades and he looks at the picture. “We still are.”

It happens when he least expects it, with a belly full of beer and a woozy, half-drunk feeling making him sleepy and content. Harry finds himself here more frequently, in the same dark and dingy Muggle club with its hidden alcoves and bar staff who turn a blind eye to the kind of things the patrons come here to enjoy. Harry consoles himself with the fact that at least here, nobody knows his name. He hooks his ankle over his knee and sits back, his arm stretched over the seat as he peruses the dance floor until someone catches his eye.

With an intake of breath, Harry lets his gaze rake over the familiar figure who stares back at him.

Malfoy.

“Fancy seeing you here. _Auror_ Potter.” Malfoy’s voice carries a hint of scorn and he sits next to Harry, sipping his drink. “Do you _come_ here often?”

“Fuck you.” Harry snorts and drops his arm from the back of the sofa as it comes dangerously close to settling on Malfoy’s shoulders. He tries to shake the fog from his mind and shifts further from Malfoy who looks too expensive, too distracting and far too _good_ for Harry’s liking.

“I suppose you want me to say thank you.” Malfoy looks at Harry out of the corner of his eye, his lips set in a strange half-smile. “For saving my father.”

“Not particularly. I did it because it was the right thing to do – not for you.” Harry feels the need to make that clear, particularly when Malfoy presses his body closer and the scent of his cologne and the faint smell of ink makes Harry’s body react in the most traitorous of ways. “I don’t need your thanks.”

“Still…” Malfoy pauses and then slips out of his place next to Harry, onto his knees. His hands slide up Harry’s hips and work at his belt, his voice a low murmur. “Potter, look at you. You _are_ pleased to see me.”

“Malfoy…” Harry’s word comes out with a croak as Malfoy unzips his jeans. He looks around as his breathing hitches, but their position is secluded and protected from the curious gaze of people on the dance floor. Harry thinks about saying _stop_ or _don’t_ but instead he tangles his hand in Malfoy’s hair and spreads his legs apart. He dimly wonders if he’s under Imperius but he knows even Malfoy wouldn’t go to those lengths – particularly not when he doesn’t need to.

“Tell me you want this.” Malfoy looks up from his position on the floor, his eyes glinting in the dim light in the club. “Tell me you want me.”

“Fuck…” Harry draws a shaky breath and when Malfoy slips his hand around his cock he knows he’s done for. “I want you.”

“With _feeling_ , Potter.” Malfoy rolls his eyes and then presses down over Harry, engulfing him in delicious tight, wet heat.

Harry clenches his hand more tightly in Malfoy’s hair, thrusting into his mouth until his cock hits the back of Malfoy’s throat. The sensation of Malfoy struggling to accommodate him spurs Harry on in ways he didn’t know were possible. He closes his eyes and takes in every flick of Malfoy’s tongue, every slide of his lips. He pictures Malfoy in all kinds of positions, eager and wanting and he thrusts up harder, holding Malfoy down momentarily.

When his cock finally pulses and he comes with a low groan inside Malfoy’s mouth, Harry opens his eyes.

Malfoy wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and gets to his feet, eyeing Harry’s now flaccid prick and wrinkling his nose. “You’re easier than I expected. Now we’re even.”

Before Harry can stop him, Malfoy moves through the crowds and disappears from view.

Harry sits back in his seat and groans, feeling like an utter shit.

 

“I never expected you to leave us this soon.” Shacklebolt shakes Harry’s hand and gives him a quick salute. “But I wish you all the best and there’s always space for you on my team.”

“I appreciate it, thanks.” Harry takes a last look around his office and hands Shacklebolt his Auror badge. “I’m not sure this is right for me anymore.”

“You know best, of course.” Shacklebolt shrugs and nods to the picture of Harry, Ron and Hermione which Harry sketched several months before. “We all have other interests. Merlin knows you’ve earned the right to pursue yours. Just know that if we’re ever really in trouble I might still call on you from time to time.”

“Anything you need.” Harry swallows around the lump in his throat and shuffles awkwardly in place. “You’ll come to the Leaky for a swift one?”

“Of course. I think a few of the team are already down there.” Shacklebolt claps Harry on the shoulder. “Off you go, Potter. No goodbyes.”

“No goodbyes,” Harry agrees. He steps through the Floo in his office for the final time, and drawing a deep breath he flings down some Floo powder. “The Leaky Cauldron.”

The familiar tug of the Floo pulls Harry along until he stumbles out of the fireplace and into the pub. He wonders if he’ll ever get the hang of Floo travel and suspects not.

“Here he is, man of the hour.” Seamus grabs Harry’s coat and sends it flying onto a hook with a flick of his wand. “Someone get the lad a whiskey!”

“Thanks all the same, but I don’t really like whiskey…”

“I’d keep that quiet,” Seamus mutters in Harry’s ear. “It’s whiskey or a yard of ale.”

“Right, then.” Harry exhales and grins at his friends who seem to have settled in for the night at the bar. “Whiskey it is.”

 

“So then we went home.”

“And?” Harry holds his breath and Ron groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“And _that’s_ when the kissing started.”

“I assume Ron’s telling you about the love of his life.” Neville takes a seat next to Harry. “Ginny’s already hit him with a couple of Bat-Bogeys for that.”

“I’m pleased to hear it.” Harry holds his hands up when Ron glares. “You know what I think. You and Hermione need to stop being a pair of idiots. You’re both miserable apart, no matter how many people you’re snogging. Don’t make the mistake of leaving it too long.”

“Hermione’s snogging people too?” Ron stares from Neville to Harry and back again. “She wouldn’t. Would she?”

“Dunno. She might.” Neville shrugs. “It’s not like you’re the only one who’s single now. Besides, she’s brilliant.”

“Watch it.” Ron glowers and gestures for another pint. “I’m still trying to forget you’re shagging my sister. Don’t make me think you’re after my girlfriend too.”

“Ex-girlfriend,” Harry corrects. He winces when Ron’s expression falls and his bottom lip trembles. “Sorry. She’ll be back from her travels next week. Try not to be a total prat and she might just be pleased to see you.”

“When am I a prat?” Ron meets Harry’s eyes and then sighs when Harry doesn’t respond. “Fair point. Next week, you say?”

“Next week.”

“I have something that might cheer you up.” Neville pushes a copy of a glossy hardback across the table. “Malfoy’s new book.”

 

 

_Ghost under rocks_

 

“You’re right. That _has_ cheered me up.” Ron grins and reaches for the book, reading the blurb out loud. “Devouring Death, by Draco Malfoy. Cygnus Hyperion Smyth – that’s Malfoy, by the way – is a handsome man with a deadly secret. Isolated by his wealth and power, Cygnus must undertake an undercover mission in his quest to save the world he inhabits from the grip of a bespectacled madman. Can Cygnus overthrow the dark forces which threaten his very existence, or will he fall into the grip of the secret society he has been assigned to overthrow?”

“Bespectacled madman?” Harry huffs and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “How the fuck has Malfoy turned me into Voldemort?”

“With a lot of adverbs, by the looks of things.” Ron flicks through the pages. “At least you’re charming in your madness.”

“Only because you’re using a spell, though.” Neville pats Harry on the shoulder. “Sorry, Harry. It soon becomes clear you’re not very charming at all.”

“And _Cygnus_?” Harry grits his teeth and reaches for the book trying to ignore the way any mention of Malfoy still sets his pulse racing. “What’s he like?”

“Just like Malfoy. Brilliant, handsome-”

“ _Devilishly_ handsome,” Neville clarifies.

“That’s right. He gets a lot of action too, old Cygnus. While he’s saving the world.”

“I’ll bet,” Harry mutters glaring at Malfoy’s picture. “People buy this?”

“It’s a best seller.” Ron nods at Harry’s empty glass. “Which I’m guessing means you’ll want another whiskey.”

“Too right.” Harry drops the book down on the table with a thud. “Make it a double.”

 

“This place is _excellent_.” Hermione looks around Harry’s workshop and gives him a beaming smile. “Really, Harry. I love it.”

“It’s not much at the moment, but I like it.” Harry stands from his artist’s desk and moves to flop onto one of the comfy sofas, splattered with dry paint. “I’ve been working non-stop on getting the magical illustrations just right.”

“That’s advanced magic. I’m impressed.” Hermione takes a seat after handing Harry a piping mug of hot tea. “This was a good decision, I take it?”

“Never been happier.” Harry looks around his small space, filled with canvases and ink bottles of all different colours and sizes. At his desk his trusty pencils are carefully lined up, sharpened and ready to be used. The room carries the scent of white spirit and oils, and his clothes are comfortable and covered with irregular spots of paint. “I’m sure Shacklebolt thinks I’m barmy leaving the Ministry to become a struggling artist.”

“It’s nobody’s business but yours.” Hermione looks at one of the sketches, laughing as a small fairy flutters its wings and moves along the page. “Besides, I don’t think you’re going to struggle for much longer. You could make a successful business out of this.”

“I’m not sure.” Harry frowns at the picture and shrugs. “I’m not very good at the big portraits people seem to want these days. It’s all a bit grand for my tastes.”

“What about those children’s stories you illustrated?” Hermione’s tone changes as if the memory still irritates her. “Although I would have much preferred to see you illustrating something a little more modern. Honestly, if I have to read another story about a princess being saved by a handsome prince…”

“That’s just it,” Harry interrupts. They’ve had this conversation more than once before. “I can’t find the right kind of stories.”

“Well then,” Hermione waves her hand as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Write your own.”

“Just like that?” Harry thinks about it. “I don’t know if it’s really my thing.”

“Then team up with someone who can write them for you.” Hermione looks pointedly at the book on Harry’s desk. “An old acquaintance, for example.”

“Malfoy?” Harry nearly spits out his tea wondering if Hermione would be so eager to suggest a truce with Malfoy if she knew about the full extent of their history. “Hardly.”

“Well, it could be a good way to put your illustrations to work. You might find he isn’t that bad after all.”

Harry ignores that particular statement and watches a couple of his sketches move and flutter under a gentle breeze from the open window. “I suppose I need some help if I’m ever going to be able to develop the magic behind my illustrations.”

“Then make it happen.” Hermione gives Harry a soft smile and tips her mug in his direction. “You can do it. We all know you can.”

“Thanks.” Harry stares at Malfoy’s book, only to be met with a self-satisfied wink. “Perhaps you’re right.”

 

“I’m not sure why I’ve been summoned to the Leaky Cauldron on a Tuesday evening, but you should be quick. I’ve got a meeting at five.” Malfoy looks at his watch and taps the glass with his finger as if doing so might make the time go more quickly. “I hope you’re not expecting a repeat of the last time we saw one another.”

Harry sits opposite Malfoy and tries to fight the heat rising in his cheeks. “You wish. I’m not looking for a repeat of anything. I didn’t ask you here because I’ve been pining over you, if that’s what you think.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” Malfoy replies, bored. Harry’s gaze lingers momentarily on the sleek lines of Malfoy’s shirt and blazer which show off his slim figure to its best advantage. He shakes his head when Malfoy offers him a cigarette and watches him pluck one from an expensive looking cigarette case. Harry breathes in the acrid scent of smoke which curls around his nostrils as Malfoy takes a slow drag before flicking his gaze upwards to meet Harry’s eyes. “If you’re not after another drunken fumble what _do_ you want?”

“I’ve been fine, really. Thanks for asking.” Harry rolls his eyes and then pushes a couple of his illustrations across the table. “I wanted to discuss a business proposition with you.”

“I see.” Malfoy’s eyebrow arches as he looks at one of the illustrations. “Prince Charming meets Prince Charming. How quaint.” His lips curl into a smirk and he looks up at Harry. “So tell me, Potter, do you ever like to play Cinderella?”

“Piss off.” Harry snorts and snatches back his illustrations, feeling the familiar heat and anger coil in his stomach as Malfoy continues to watch him with the same calm, all-knowing smile. “This was a stupid idea.”

“I’m sure it was.” Malfoy shrugs and another tendril of smoke curls into the air. “I’d like to hear it, nevertheless. I rescheduled a lunch to accommodate your request, the least you can do is tell me what you need.”

“A writer,” Harry blurts out before he can stop himself. “I need a writer.”

“For children’s stories?” Malfoy wrinkles his nose and looks at the pictures again. “That’s not exactly my genre, Potter. As you would know if you had actually bothered to _read_ any of the Cygnus Smyth series.”

“Maybe not, but you’re the only published author I know.” Harry gives Malfoy an apologetic smile when his honesty is met with a huff of annoyance. “Sorry.”

“I’m not interested in writing fairy tales, particularly not ones created to help you forget about your own pathetic love life.”

Harry stares and clenches his hands into fists. “What would you know about my love life?”

“I know it’s non-existent.”

“Well if you know so much perhaps _you’re_ the one with an interest in a repeat performance?” Harry folds his arms and glares at Malfoy.

“Do you want my help or not?” Pink spots rise on Malfoy’s pale cheeks and he stubs his cigarette out. “Tell me why this won’t be an unmitigated disaster, and I'll think about it.”

“There’s magic.” Relieved by the change of subject, Harry murmurs an incantation and lets Malfoy see the pictures begin to move over the page. “It needs some fine-tuning, but this charm could change the way children read.”

Malfoy’s expression flickers with a hint of curiosity. “In what way? It just looks like any magical illustration.”

Harry warms to his theme and leans forward, dipping his voice so the conversation can’t be overheard. “I’m developing a charm for an interactive reading experience. George gave me permission to modify their Patented Daydream Charm and build it into a children’s story. The incantation _Olim_ activates the charm and enables the reader to go into the book and experience the story for themselves.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrow. “Underage witches and wizards can’t do magic and those Daydream Charms can’t be used by children. I assume you’re aware of that?”

“Because the magic is built in to the book and the illustrations, they don’t have to do magic as such.” Harry’s excitement increases and he taps his fingers over the pencil sketches which continue to move across the parchment. “They just have to activate the charm with the incantation and then they sleep while they read – a bit of a spin on bedtime story - which allows them to experience magic without doing magic themselves. Besides, Shacklebolt knows about the idea and he’s quite happy it doesn’t breach any regulations.”

“The benefits of being the Boy Who Lived, I suppose.” Malfoy rolls his eyes. “I assume there’s a way out of the story?”

“The charm only lasts for thirty minutes which should be long enough to experience the story. If they want to get out earlier, the reader can stop the experience at any time by saying _Beate in aeternum_.” Harry shrugs. “The incantations are supposed to be like ‘once upon a time’ and ‘happily ever after.’”

“Thanks for the translation. Funnily enough, I’m familiar with Latin.” Malfoy snorts. “Of course it would be happily ever after. Only you, Potter.” He brushes his fingers over one of the illustrations and studies it more closely. “Can these stories of yours only be read once?”

“No.” Harry shakes his head. “There’s a fixed number of points within the story where the reader has to make a choice – turn left instead of right, go into a house or continue walking through the forest, that sort of thing.” He shrugs when Malfoy arches an eyebrow at his description. “Now do you see why I need a writer?”

Malfoy nods and his lips tug into a slow smirk. He leans closer so his breath ghosts over Harry’s face. “Tell me, Potter – how do you want the story to end?”

“It should always end the same way.” Harry swallows and resists the urge to close the distance between himself and Malfoy. He shivers at the memory of Malfoy’s hair between his fingers and the sensation of Malfoy’s lips working over the length of his cock. Malfoy licks his lips and Harry follows the way his tongue moves, watching as Malfoy’s lips part momentarily. He clenches his hands tightly together and pushes aside the memory of Malfoy on his knees because he’d really rather forget about that particular moment of bad judgment.

“No matter what choices the reader makes, they end up in the same place?” Malfoy settles back and the tension dissipates. “It seems unlikely, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know.” Malfoy lights another cigarette and Harry tries to steady his voice. “I think the reader deserves to get a happily ever after whatever path they choose.”

“I suppose it _is_ intended to be fiction.” Malfoy flicks invisible lint from his trousers and refuses to meet Harry’s gaze. “Real life doesn’t have a happily ever after.”

“It can.” Harry’s brow furrows and Malfoy finally meets his gaze, his face expressionless. “If you want it badly enough and you’re prepared to work for it.”

“Please. You of all people know things don’t work like that. You’ve visited Azkaban often enough, fighting for justice. You buried enough of your friends after the war to know that the happily ever after only happens to a lucky few.” Malfoy raises his eyes heavenward and takes a sip of his drink. “What happens to the book if the magic isn’t activated?”

“It’s just like a normal Muggle children’s book.” Harry pushes aside a rush of pain which threatens to overwhelm him as Malfoy’s words resonate. His mind fills with the image of Molly Weasley bowed over Fred's still body. George stands by her side and insists _'he's only sleeping, mum'_ while Ron's eyes dart up to meet Harry's, red-rimmed and full of anger and pain. A wave of exhaustion follows, and Harry's excitement fades to be replaced with a dull ache of sorrow. He takes back his illustrations and looks at the hopeful scenes of fairy tale lands and smiling characters and wonders at how childish his sketches must look to Malfoy.

“Well, it’s intriguing magic, I suppose.” Malfoy glares at Harry. “Which is aggravating. I can’t imagine how you were able to develop it by yourself.”

“Because I’m a half-decent wizard, funnily enough, but thanks for the vote of confidence.” Harry huffs and places his illustrations carefully into the sturdy folder to keep them from getting damaged. “I’m close, but there are still bits which need ironing out.”

“I suppose working together on a trial basis wouldn’t hurt.” Malfoy presses his lips into a tight line. “But I can’t promise not to spend most of the time wanting to hex you. I’ll have my lawyer draw up a contract.”

“Is that really necessary?” Harry blinks at Malfoy. “Can’t we just see how things go?”

“You and me, Potter?” Malfoy laughs, an honest-to-goodness laugh and his face relaxes into a smile. “What do you think?”

“Fine.” Harry waves his hand dismissively, supposing Malfoy has a point. “Do whatever you want.”

Harry stands to leave and startles when Malfoy’s slim, cool fingers wrap around his wrist. He looks down at Malfoy and pauses in his movements as their eyes meet.

“Do you think this adventure of ours will have a happy ending too, Potter?”

Malfoy’s thumb brushes against Harry’s wrist and a flicker of a smile crosses his face when Harry’s heartbeat quickens. Harry yanks his hand away and stuffs it into his pocket, glaring at Malfoy.

“Don’t make fun of me. It’s a good idea and you know it.”

“Perhaps.” Malfoy shrugs and looks away. “But that’s not the question I asked.”

Harry takes Malfoy’s stance as a gesture of dismissal and before he can say something he might regret, he leaves without looking back.

 

“This is very different to the Ministry.” Malfoy pulls a face as he takes in Harry’s studio, his fingers moving over the irregular paint marks on the sofa. “It’s hardly the office I was expecting.”

“Did you think I’d be one for mahogany bookcases and a writing desk?” Harry raises his eyebrows at Malfoy who shrugs in response. “I cleared a space for you, that is tidy enough. Set it up how you like. There’s a toilet down the corridor to the right, and the stove works if you want coffee or tea. There’s even some chocolate biscuits in the cupboard.”

“So kind, Potter.” Malfoy peruses the empty corner of the studio and nods. “This will do. I’ll have one of the Malfoy elves organise the space to my liking when you finish for the day."

“Of course you will.” Harry laughs despite himself and turns back to his parchment to continue sketching. “I signed that contract of yours. I don’t give two figs about the royalties, you know.”

“Why on earth are you doing this, then?”

“Because I enjoy it. Because for the first time since the war I feel really happy – lighter.” Harry looks up to find Malfoy giving him an intense, curious look and he can’t help but flush under the gaze. “Why are you doing it?”

“For the royalties, of course. I think we’re going to be rich.”

“You’re already rich,” Harry points out.

“Yes.” Malfoy smiles. “I am, aren’t I?”

“So perhaps it’s not all about the royalties.”

“No,” Malfoy agrees with a note of reluctance. “Perhaps not.”

When Harry looks up to ask Malfoy what he’s really doing here, the studio is empty.

 

“Do you get to have much sex?”

“Excuse me?” Harry looks up from his drawing to see Malfoy staring at him from across the room.

“Sex. Shagging. Do you do much of it? I haven’t seen you out and about in Muggle London after the last time.”

“That’s none of your damn business.” Harry glares at Malfoy who looks insufferably smug.

“I knew it. You’ve probably only had that one blow job and spend most of your time wanking yourself silly over an imaginary Prince Charming.”

“Fuck you, Malfoy.” Harry struggles to breathe, his cheeks hot with anger. “Why on earth do you care?”

“I don’t.” Malfoy turns back to his parchment and continues to write in a neat hand, before placing his quill down and looking back at Harry. “It’s just a bit pathetic.”

“Is it?” Harry grits his teeth. “I suppose you’re out having sex all the time?”

“I do okay for myself.” The smug look returns and Malfoy checks his watch. “I have a dinner date this evening, actually.”

“Bully for you,” Harry mutters. He picks up his pencil and begins to sketch, each stroke pressing deep into the parchment as he fights back a wave of jealousy. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I _do_ have sex. I’m just a bit more private about it than you.”

“Not always.”

 

 

_Smother it, murder it_

 

Harry bristles at the teasing sound in Malfoy’s voice and the tip of his pencil breaks. He curses and uses a quick spell to sharpen the tip again. “That was a one-off. I was drunk, and I hardly had much choice in the matter.”

“You had _every_ choice and you weren’t _that_ drunk.” Malfoy snorts and the silence settles between them. “How often?”

“Malfoy.” Harry growls and looks up from his pictures, giving Malfoy his best glare. “I’m not discussing my sex life with you, for fuck’s sake.”

“Well excuse me.” Malfoy looks momentarily put out. “I can’t help the fact most of my friends think being queer is an insult to my Pureblood family. Besides, I don’t think there are too many people you can talk to about this either.”

“There are some.” Harry puts down his pencil and eyes Malfoy. “Not to mention this is hardly us sharing stories over a pint. We’re not _friends_ , Malfoy. We never were, never will be. This is just you trying your best to piss me off, as always.”

“Is it working?” A flicker of emotion crosses Malfoy’s features before his expression becomes carefully neutral.

“No.” Harry turns back to his picture and clears the previous attempt with a flick of his wand and a groan of frustration. “It’s not.”

 

“Finished.” Malfoy drops a couple of sheets of parchment on Harry’s desk and collapses onto the sofa, turning his nose up at the brightly coloured paint marks on the fabric. “I decided to use your story about the mirror in the end.”

“Erised?”

Malfoy nods. “That’s the one. That’s how the story ends, with a mirror and a key. Read it. It’s quite brilliant.”

“I’m sure.” Harry rolls his eyes and squints to read the fancy manuscript. “Can’t you write like a normal person?”

“Can’t _you_ read manuscript?” Malfoy rolls his eyes. “I put in that dog you seem so keen on drawing too, although I’m not sure what’s so interesting about a mongrel. Personally I’d have preferred more dragons.”

“One dragon’s quite enough,” Harry mutters. “The Prince and the Pauper?”

“It seemed fitting.” Malfoy studies his nails, looking bored.

“I’m afraid someone’s done that already. Besides – we said we weren’t going to do the whole Prince Charming thing, remember?”

“ _Fine_.” With a huff Malfoy picks up the papers. “I’ll make some changes. But we’re both agreed the story ends at the castle?”

“Yes.” Harry nods. He holds up his drawing of the castle, with the script beneath it curling around the base of the detailed brickwork - _Beate in aeternum_. “Happily ever after. The end.”

“I wish everything was that easy.” Malfoy looks around with a frown. “We need a house-elf. I could murder a coffee.”

“I’ll put the kettle on.” Harry flicks his wand to levitate the cast iron kettle and settle it down onto the stove. “The mugs are in the cupboard.”

“You’ve made quite the little home for yourself here, Potter.” Malfoy stands and wanders around the studio taking everything in. “Do you _sleep_ here?”

“Sometimes.” Harry shrugs and gestures to a small door off to the side of the studio. “There’s a bedroom through there and a proper bathroom.”

“Is there indeed?” Malfoy looks curiously at the door and then pushes it open. “Can I take a shower?”

“No.” Harry balks at Malfoy and shakes his head. “Why the hell do you want to take a shower?”

“Late night. I started writing at six this morning.” Malfoy yawns and pats his hand to his mouth. “I haven’t exactly had much sleep and I could do with freshening up.”

“Of course. The dinner date.” Harry waves his hand and tries to fight the all too familiar flash of jealousy which seems to hit him more often than not these days. “Knock yourself out.”

Harry continues to draw while Malfoy showers, pushing aside the images of Malfoy under the water which keep him distracted long after the sound of running water dissipates. Malfoy’s whistling can be heard clearly through the thin walls, and Harry tries not to think too hard about the reasons why Malfoy might feel relaxed enough to sing in the shower.

“Coffee?” Malfoy finally exits the bathroom just as the kettle starts to whistle, his clothes fresh from a cleaning spell and his hair still damp.

“Singing in the shower. Must have been a good night,” Harry mutters.

“Absolutely.” Malfoy smirks and settles onto the sofa. He crosses his legs and stretches them out, contemplating Harry. “You seem rather tense, Potter. Maybe you need a good _night_ too?”

“I do just fine.” Harry bristles. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“I’m sure you do.” Malfoy laughs in the most infuriating way and begins to whistle again as he makes the coffee. “I’m sure you do.”

 

“Shut that window, Potter.”

Harry looks up from his parchment and turns to Malfoy. “You shut the bloody window. I’m not your house-elf.”

“There are insects _everywhere_.” Malfoy bats away a colourful butterfly which flutters around his head and then lands on his ink pot. “Besides, the wind keeps blowing the parchment all over my desk. It’s infuriating.”

Harry studies the brightly coloured butterfly and frowns down at his sketch. The wings of a butterfly spread across the parchment and flutter under the magic he used to bring the picture into motion. He stands, closing the window and moves to Malfoy’s desk. The butterfly moves from the ink pot and lands on Harry’s hand, where it spreads its wings with a light flutter.

“I think he likes me.”

“Harry Potter, friend to house-elves, paupers and butterflies.” Malfoy rolls his eyes and waves Harry away. “You’re in my light, Potter. Move.”

“You’re welcome.” Harry rolls his eyes and returns to his desk, where the butterfly settles next to his pots of pencils and paints. “It’s a bit odd, don’t you think?”

“I think _you’re_ a bit odd,” Malfoy replies with a snort.

“The butterfly. I was just drawing one for our story and then all of a sudden one flies through the window and lands on your desk. It’s almost exactly the same as my sketch.”

“Well, try not to draw any werewolves then,” Malfoy mutters. “Honestly, Potter. It’s just a coincidence. They are hardly uncommon at this time of year.”

The butterfly flutters its wings again and lands on the window, where it spreads out basking in the sunlight.

Harry taps his pencil to his lips, watching the butterfly bathe in the light for a long moment before he returns to his parchment. He pushes any doubts to the back of his mind and begins to sketch.

“You’re probably right.”

“Undoubtedly,” Malfoy agrees.

 

“We should do more work on the charm. I’m still not entirely convinced your modifications will be successful.” Malfoy flicks his wand and tendrils of light emit from its end. He sends them dancing towards Harry and then pulls them back with another lazy flick of his hand. He lights a cigarette and lets out a sigh of satisfaction. “I needed that.”

“You should give up.” Harry watches the smoke curl with fascination and tries to avoid staring at Malfoy’s lips. “I tested the charm yesterday. It seems to be working okay, although there’s a couple of glitches.”

“You tried it properly?” Malfoy arches his eyebrow, and Harry shakes his head.

“No, I didn’t go into the book. But the charm seems to be working and the illustrations too.” Harry spreads out the book on the table and flicks his wand to start the illustrations moving. He points at the Prince following the path which forks out in two directions. “See?”

“Yes, I like it – or at least I do now that I’ve convinced you our story needs a Prince.” Malfoy turns the pages, his shoulder brushing Harry’s momentarily.

“Well, at least he’s not on a quest to save a Princess. Hermione would kill me.” Harry winces at the thought and Malfoy laughs.

“No, he’s saving another Prince of course.” Malfoy leans into Harry, his lips quirking into a smile. “Do you think they’ll ever guess we’re queer?”

Harry blinks at Malfoy. “Our characters are _friends_ , Malfoy. Bloody hell, is everything about sex with you?”

“Quite a lot.” Malfoy looks entirely unapologetic. “Besides, a handsome Prince in mortal danger is much better than a stupid story about something coming out of a mirror. That would never happen.”

Harry grits his teeth. “That _did_ happen. Just as I told you. The Mirror of Erised-”

Malfoy pats his hand to his mouth. “Yes, the mirror gave you a stone. It all sounded very exciting.”

“You couldn’t look more bored and it wasn’t just a stone, it was the _Philosopher’s Stone._ Eternal life? Makes a pretty good story if you ask me.”

“We might as well have just called it the Harry Potter story. If you’re desperate to live your countless victories through fiction you might as well get yourself an editor and write the story yourself.” Malfoy folds his arms, huffing.

“Fine - I don’t want to change it. I like the story, as I’ve already told you plenty of times.” Harry rolls his eyes. “I just don’t know what was wrong with the mirror and the key.”

“That’s why I’m the writer and you’re the artist.” Malfoy warms to his theme and crosses his legs, perching on Harry’s desk. “If you knew the basic rules of the kind of story you’re trying to create you would know someone usually needs saving – or killing. There’s always a consequence, you can’t just walk through a forest and find a key and get a happily ever after.”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Because that’s not a story.” Malfoy taps the pages of the book. “Now _that’s_ a story. You enter the tale and someone is trapped in the castle. You have to save them, and it’s a race against time. There are choices to make along the way, creatures you can trust and creatures you can’t, but ultimately you must _get to the castle_ to save the day. Then you can marry your Prince Charming or snog him senseless or do something entirely inappropriate for a children’s book. Happily ever after.”

Harry turns the book in his hands, with a flicker of excitement. “We just need to test the daydream charm and then we should be able to finally see how the magic works in the story itself.”

“You’re sure we can both test it as readers? I don’t want to end up being your sleeping beauty just because you’ve cocked something up.”

“At least I’d try to save you, Malfoy, instead of turning you over to the other side in exchange for a dragon or something.” Harry rolls his eyes and puts the book down. “It’s designed so adults can read along with the children. You know that.”

“I know that’s how it’s supposed to work.” Malfoy stretches and stands. “I’m sure you’ve tested it all quite thoroughly, Potter. Are we finished for the day?”

“I suppose.” Harry shrugs and eyes Malfoy curiously. “Another dinner?”

“Something like that.” Malfoy winks at Harry and grabs his coat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Harry watches Malfoy leave and not for the first time, he has to suppress his increasing jealousy at Malfoy’s active social life.

When the door closes behind Malfoy, Harry makes his way into the small bedroom to take a shower. He lets the water slide over his body and works the aching knots out of his muscles. He wonders if he should fly or go for a run, as the days sitting hunched over his drawings have made his back ache. He feels the strangest desire to fly just as high as he can, unsettled and restless.

Pulling a face, he gets out of the shower and pulls on his comfortable clothes. The sound of movement from his studio startles him, and he pushes open the bedroom door tentatively.

“Malfoy? Did you forget something?”

The studio is silent and still. The window to the left of the large space rattles in the wind and bangs on its hinges having become unlatched. With a frown, Harry closes the window firmly and picks up the pages of his story which the wind must have disturbed.

“It’s only the wind,” Harry tells himself as he puts his papers together and rearranges them carefully. “It’s only the wind.”

 

“You’re late.” Harry doesn’t bother looking up from his sketches when the door to the studio opens and closes with a slam. “Three days late, to be precise.”

“I’ve been sick.”

“People tend to call if they’re sick.” Harry looks up at last and glares at Malfoy. “You can’t just swan in and out of here - I thought you took this seriously?”

“That’s how it is?” Malfoy snorts. “You think you’re my boss, I suppose. Well fuck that. We never agreed to that. Fifty-fifty share of the profits we agreed, which means I don’t work for you and I don’t have to tell you when I need time off.”

“I don’t think I’m your _boss_ , but I would have thought I at least deserve a Fire Call. Just because it’s courteous.” Harry folds his arms. “I was worried. Not that you’d ever think that for one moment. Not that my being worried would ever occur to you.”

Malfoy’s bored expression flickers momentarily. “You were worried?”

“Don’t sound so happy about it.” Harry grabs his coat, a furious heat coiling in his stomach. “I’m going out.”

“Don’t be a prick, Potter! Where are you going?”

“To get pissed.” Harry closes the door behind him and collapses against it, trying to settle his racing heart. He thinks he can vaguely hear Malfoy making a racket inside the studio, and his heart constricts when he thinks about his hours of work and the carefully etched sketches. “He wouldn’t.” Harry closes his eyes and steadies his breathing, relieved when the noises stop. “He won’t.”

He pushes himself off the door and walks into the daylight, blinking in the strong light of the sun. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and begins to walk, determined that for one day at least he won’t think about Draco Malfoy.

 

“I still don’t think you had to storm off in such a mood, but for what it’s worth I’m sorry I didn’t let you know about my absence.”

“Is that a present?” Harry looks at the box neatly wrapped in Slytherin green and silver and arches an eyebrow at Malfoy. “You got me a present?”

“It’s not exactly a present.” Malfoy turns his back to Harry and busies himself with something on his desk. “It’s just something I had lying around. Nothing special.”

Harry furrows his brow and opens up the long box. He had half expected to come back to his studio the next day to find his sketches destroyed and Malfoy’s things cleared away. Instead, Malfoy was already at his desk and the enticing scent of fresh coffee filled the large space.

“Pencils.” Harry grins as he slides them out of the box. “Brand new ones - those pricey ones from _Flourish and Blotts_. Thanks. They’re brilliant.”

“I’ve had them for years, never used them.” Malfoy waves his hand and pours two cups of coffee, not turning quickly enough for Harry to miss the flush in his cheeks. “It’s nothing.”

Harry nods, hiding his smile with his cup. He knows full well Malfoy’s lying but this time he couldn’t care less. “You’ve tidied up a bit.” Harry looks around the studio, and his neatly stacked parchment.

“No.” Malfoy frowns and shakes his head. “I actually...it was a bit of a mess when I left. I was angry with you, Potter. Bloody furious at you stomping off without giving me a chance to explain. I assumed you tidied when you got back.”

Harry shakes his head but doesn’t push. He suspects Malfoy knows very well he didn’t sleep in the studio that night, but if Malfoy insists on pretending he’s an ass then Harry’s happy enough to let him.

“Fine. The room cleaned itself.” Harry opens a packet of biscuits and offers one to Malfoy. “Bourbon?”

“I don’t know why you like these things.” Malfoy eyes the biscuit with suspicion but takes one anyway. “It’s not even proper chocolate.”

“Are you going to tell me why you were off for three days?” Harry studies Malfoy who responds with a shrug.

“Are you going to tell me what you got up to yesterday?”

Harry sips his coffee and gestures to the parchment on his desk. “Back to work, then?”

“Yes.” Malfoy grabs another biscuit and settles at his desk. “Back to work.”

 

Harry turns over in bed and holds his breath as the floorboards creak outside his bedroom door. He gets to his feet and reaches for his wand and glasses, moving as quietly as he can manage towards the door.

“ _Lumos_!” He pushes open the door and casts the spell quickly, following it with a swift _Incarcerous_ in the direction of the footsteps.

“It’s me, you idiot.”

“Malfoy?” Harry blinks and rubs his eyes as Malfoy struggles in the bindings with a harrumph of annoyance.

“I might have known you’d be a kinky fuck. Untie me at once.”

Harry releases the bonds and glares at Malfoy. “I wasn’t being _kinky_ , I thought I was about to be attacked in my sleep. What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing sneaking around here at night?”

“I wanted to test our story.” Malfoy rubs his wrists and huffs at Harry. “It’s nearly done, isn’t it?”

“I think so.” Harry rolls his eyes and stuffs his wand into his pocket. “But we’re testing it together – you can’t just barge in here and take over while I’m sleeping.”

“I didn’t even know you’d be here.” Malfoy looks at the book and picks it up to flick through the pages. “I saw Weasley in the Leaky Cauldron. Seems you’re closer to testing this than I realised, and I didn’t want to miss out in the fun.”

“You were in the pub with _George_?” Harry’s mouth opens momentarily and he pinches himself just to be absolutely sure he’s not still dreaming.

“I wasn’t _with_ Weasley.” Malfoy’s look of horror convinces Harry he’s awake. “I was with Zabini. Weasley just took it upon himself to try to be friendly.”

“That’s because he’s a nice bloke.” Harry raises his eyebrows at Malfoy. “I hope you weren’t your usual self.”

“I’m not sure what you mean by that.” Malfoy sits next to Harry, and his clothes carry the faint scent of cigarettes and notes of citrus. “I was perfectly pleasant.”

“I’m sure you were.” Harry snorts and takes the book from Malfoy. He looks at his clothes with a frown. “I’m not sure going into this in my pyjamas is the best thing.”

“I assume the charm will dress you properly,” Malfoy says, unconcerned.

Harry laughs. “Yes, I suppose it should.”

Harry opens the book and looks at Malfoy. Their eyes meet and a spark of electricity passes between them. Malfoy meets Harry’s smile with one of his own, his eyes shining and he brushes his fingers against the page.

“Together?”

“Why not?”

There’s a heartbeat and a pause which makes Harry feel suspended in time, and then his voice joins Malfoy’s, curious and rough with excitement.

“ _Olim_!”

 

“We’re really here.” Harry’s voice trembles with excitement and he brushes his fingers against the bark of the tree he carefully sketched many nights ago. The pencil of the bark shivers and flexes beneath his fingers until the wood takes on colour and shape and a gentle breeze moves through the air, sending a couple of leaves fluttering to the floor at their feet.

 

_Take a walk on the wild side_

 

“It’s like another world.” Malfoy looks up and laughs with delight, pointing at a dragon which swoops through the clear blue sky towards the sun. “I wrote about the dragon. He’s part of it.”

“Of course he is.” A rush of affection makes Harry reach for Malfoy and squeeze his hand, before dropping it quickly. The look on Malfoy’s face is one of wide-eyed innocence and childish wonder. He’s a Malfoy that Harry has only seen once or twice before, and part of him wants this moment to never end.

“There’s the castle.” Malfoy points to the turrets high on a hill somewhere in the distance. “It looks like Hogwarts.”

“Yes, I suppose it does. I haven’t seen all that many castles in my time. I was probably thinking about Hogwarts when I drew it.” Harry laughs with delight as the world shifts into focus and gains colour and depth around them. “This is bloody brilliant.”

“Isn’t it?” Malfoy looks at Harry with barely concealed excitement. “Well then, Potter. Where to next? I’m pretty certain we have a Prince to save.”

Harry takes a breath and looks at the two paths stretching out in front of them. He points to his left. “This way.”

“Fine.” Malfoy’s voice sounds teasing and follows Harry as he begins to walk. “It doesn’t matter either way, I suppose. All paths lead towards a happy ending.”

“That’s the plan!” With gusto, Harry forges forward taking in every butterfly on the richly scented flowers and the gentle curve and slope of the path. “Let’s just stick together, though.”

“Of course.” Malfoy falls into line beside Harry. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Mesmerised by the world they have created, Harry settles next to a stream and splashes his face with cool water. He scoops a little water into the palm of his hand and drinks as much as he can gather, letting droplets run down his shirt and onto the grass beneath his feet. He considers his reflection momentarily and smiles at the regal outfit. He would have been much happier in jeans, but Malfoy had insisted on ornate clothing ‘befitting of the character’s status.’

Harry rakes his hand through his hair, and rolls his eyes at the memory of that particular argument. He pulls his shirt away from his skin and removes his robes, shrinking them with his wand and stuffing them into his pocket. “This is bloody exhausting. Do you still think these ridiculous costumes were a good idea?”

“Don’t start that again.” Malfoy glares at Harry, but tugs off his velvet cape and drops it onto the ground. “I thought you said the story would finish automatically after thirty minutes? It feels as though we’ve been walking forever.” Malfoy crouches next to Harry and splashes some water on his face. “We need to ensure the reader can leave the story whenever they choose and pick it up again at the same point. We can’t have children stuck in the book trying to get to the end, although I’m sure their parents would probably thank us for giving them some peace and quiet.”

“I’m sure their parents would be furious.” Harry laughs but stops himself when he notices Malfoy’s frown. “Didn’t your parents spend lots of time with you? I always thought you were…”

“Spoiled rotten?” Malfoy glares at Harry and looks away, his lips pursed. “You know nothing about me.”

“No, I suppose I don’t.” Harry sighs, the good mood between them broken.

The wind picks up and a plump raindrop lands in the stream to break Harry’s reflection into hundreds of pieces. Another droplet follows the first until his reflection is entirely obscured. With a curse, Harry puts his robes back to their normal size and looks at the darkening sky with a frown. “Why is it raining?”

“I assume because you drew some kind of storm?” Malfoy grabs his robes back from the floor, pulling them around himself with a scowl. “Trust you to ruin things.”

The rain falls heavily through the trees and the wind whips past Harry, tugging at his robes and making him shiver. The sky darkens further and the branches of the rain-swept trees cast long shadows over the once cheerful little clearing.

Harry ignores Malfoy’s obvious attempts to blame him and eyes the clouds as they gather together in the sky. “It’s supposed to be sunny – all the time. The story all takes place during the day. There isn’t supposed to be any night.”

“Well you’ve obviously cocked something up.” Malfoy rolls his eyes and bites out the incantation. “ _Beate in aeternum_.”

The setting shivers around them briefly, and then solidifies once more. The carefully sketched flowers curl in on themselves, hiding their bright colour from sight. Vines coil around the tree trunks and the shadows of the branches move together in an eerie dance.

“You’re saying it wrong.” With a moment of Hermione-like insistence and a strange gurgle of laughter rising in his throat, Harry murmurs the incantation again. “ _Beate in aeternum_.”

Malfoy’s face twists, his eyes hard when he looks at Harry. “What have you done? Why isn’t it working?”

“I don’t know.” Harry frowns and pulls out his wand, murmuring the incantation again and again. This time the setting doesn’t even flicker and darkness descends around them. The once peaceful whisper of the wind in the trees takes on a life of its own and the skittering sounds in the shadows pull Harry to his feet. “This isn’t right – we need to fix it.”

“How do you propose we do that?” Malfoy gets to his feet and shifts closer to Harry, looking around. “I don’t like this place. I just want to go home.”

“So do I.” Harry shakes his head to clear his thoughts. “This is _our_ story and they’re _my_ drawings. My scenery. We can control this, we just need to stop worrying. I’m sure it’s just a glitch in the spell.”

“I’m not worrying,” Malfoy snaps. “I just don’t know how we’re supposed to fix a glitch in the spell now we’re actually here.” His lips pull into a strange smile and he looks at Harry, his voice bitter. “You see, Potter. I warned you about this.”

“ _When_ did you warn me about this?” Harry resists the urge to wallop Malfoy.

“When I told you there’s no such thing as happily ever after.”

 

The night breeze whispers through the trees and Harry shivers, moving closer to Malfoy who keeps his back and shoulders tight and rigid.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“I’m not thinking about anything.” Harry sighs and rolls onto his back, staring up at the sky. “I think we’d sleep easier if one of us stayed awake to keep watch.”

“Fine,” Malfoy replies, tightly. “You can go first. Try to think about how to get us out of this mess.”

Harry bites back a quick response and puts his arm over his forehead, listening to the quiet rise and fall of Malfoy’s breathing.

“Malfoy?”

“I’m trying to sleep.”

“Why did you do it?”

“None of this is down to me, Potter.” Malfoy turns onto his side and glares at Harry. “I should never have got involved with you in the first place.”

“I mean why did you come up to me in the club?”

“Because I was bored.” Malfoy looks away. “To say thank you for getting me and father out of Azkaban.”

“That makes me feel like shit.” Harry frowns and studies Malfoy, watching a light flush appear on his cheeks. “So if it was a thank you, it hasn’t really worked. I don’t need sympathy shags or being fucked over by somebody who’s _bored_.”

“Then why did you let me?” Malfoy keeps his eyes trained on Harry.

“Because I was drunk, and it felt good.” Harry swallows when Malfoy noticeably flinches. “It was a mistake.”

Malfoy turns onto his side and curls up, hugging his knees to his chest. Harry hears his breathing shift and with a frown he reaches for Malfoy, brushing his hand against his shoulder.

“Fuck you.” Malfoy bites out the words and Harry pulls back, a lump rising in his throat. He lifts his wand to cover them both from the rain, when the first heavy drops of the evening begin to fall.

 

Harry wakes to a rough, wet tongue lapping at his face and groans, shifting out of the way.

“What the bloody hell are you doing, Malfoy?”

“It’s not me, you idiot.” Malfoy’s voice holds a note of fear and anger. “It’s that huge mongrel of yours.”

Said mongrel growls in response to Malfoy’s words and Harry blinks until the world comes into focus. “Padfoot!”

The dog lets out a bark and grins at Harry, its tongue lolling to one side of its mouth. Harry laughs as a heavy paw lands on his stomach and rolls away with an ‘oof’ until he and the dog are rolling around with barks of laughter.

“You’re insane.” Malfoy’s huff of indignation reminds Harry where he is and with whom, and he sits up, petting the large dog on the head and grinning at Malfoy.

“Sirius Black was an Animagus. A dog, just like this. That’s why I wanted to put him in the story.” The dog lets out a contented whine as Harry rubs behind his ears.

“Well, that’s just _brilliant_.” Malfoy splashes some water on his face and glowers. “I hope you put your werewolf pal in the story too – that would be just perfect.”

“I might have done.” Harry gives Malfoy a sheepish grin when he blanches. “But he’s fine when he’s with Padfoot. He’s a tame wolf.”

“I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in all of my life.” Malfoy stands and looks around the clearing. “We need to get to the castle and get out of here as quickly as we can. Which way?”

“Left, I reckon. I think that was the quickest route.” Harry frowns as he looks at the path snaking off to the left taking them into the forest. “Wasn’t it?”

“I don’t remember.” Malfoy rakes a hand through his hair, scowling. “I think we should go right.”

“Why can’t you just trust me?” Harry stands and goes to the brook, splashing his own face and casting a quick cleaning charm on his teeth. “That’s so typical of you, Malfoy, you always have to-”

“-Potter!”

“What?” Harry turns to Malfoy, whose face is ashen in the pale sunlight.

“Look…” With a trembling hand, Malfoy points in the direction of the two paths. A third path shimmers and shifts between them, solidifying into solid paving slabs and steps leading up into the hills. “Did you draw that?”

Harry’s breathing catches in his throat, his heartbeat quickening. He shakes his head. “No. I didn’t.” Padfoot sniffs at the edge of the path and lets out a low growl.

“It’s changing around us – the whole setting keeps _changing_.” Malfoy looks up into the trees and pulls his robes tightly around his body. “Not to mention it’s bloody freezing. Is it supposed to be winter?”

“No. You know it’s not, we created this place together.” Harry takes in the light frost on the ground and rubs the tip of his boot over the grass. “It’s still early. We should have hours of daylight left yet. We just need to keep going. There’s just a problem with using the incantation before we get to the end of the story.”

“That explains why we can’t get out, but it doesn’t explain why the story keeps changing.” Malfoy furrows his brow. “I thought the reader wasn’t supposed to be able to go outside of the confines of our story. None of this is ours.”

“I know that, bloody hell.” Harry flicks his wand through the air, trying another _Beate in aeternum_ in the hope something might happen. Just as before the world around them shivers briefly and then comes back into sharp focus. “We’ll be fine once we get to the end. Let’s just try to get there as quickly as possible.”

“But it could take forever to get there. We don’t even know how to get to the end anymore because it’s not _our story_.” Malfoy grinds his teeth in frustration. “I could _kill_ you, Potter.”

Padfoot bares his teeth and barks sharply. Harry pets him when Malfoy recoils. “Don’t mind Malfoy, Padfoot. He’s always like this. He loves me really.”

“You’re an arrogant arse.” Malfoy snorts and turns away, but not before Harry catches the flush in his cheeks. “With all the magical prowess of a drunk kneazle.”

“Stop complaining and let’s just get going.” Harry looks up at the sky and notices the sun still looks watery and pale, hanging low against the grey backdrop. “I don’t know how long we’ll have proper light.”

“You said we had all day.” Malfoy moves quickly to catch up with Harry. “Don’t we?”

Harry shrugs and looks from side to side, taking in the strange features of the landscape which looks increasingly unfamiliar. “I don’t know anymore, Malfoy. I just don’t know.”

 

“I suppose there’s some useful stuff about the ridiculous outfits you insisted on.” Harry extracts an ornate pocket watch from his robes and flips it open. His face reflects dully in the glass casing and the hand moves in steady circles, ticking by more quickly than it should. He taps the casing with a frown. “Although it would be more helpful if the watch actually worked.”

“Nothing’s working.” Malfoy pushes through a particularly thick part of the forest and his voice sounds too far away as he disappears from Harry’s sight. “Hurry up!”

“I’m coming – don’t get too far ahead.” Harry works his way through the trees after stuffing the pocket watch back into his robes. He follows the light from Malfoy’s wand, which projects long shadows over the ground, and increases his pace to catch up with Malfoy. Padfoot bounded off ahead earlier in the day, leaving Harry nervous and edgy. The last thing he wants is to lose Malfoy, even if he is a git.

“I’m not sure about any of this,” Malfoy calls, the light from his _Lumos_ swinging through the trees and highlighting more shadows beyond the walls of their thick trunks. “The forest isn’t supposed to be this dense.”

“I think we’ve established this isn’t exactly what either of us had in mind. I suppose we should thank our lucky stars neither of us ended up in a hundred year’s sleep in the castle.” When Harry finally gets through to something of a clearing, he finds Malfoy standing in front of an object covered with thick sack cloth.

Malfoy turns to Harry, his face ashen. “We agreed. We said expressly that it wasn’t going to be part of the story. Not this, not any evil Port Keys, stones or dogs with three heads. I didn’t want to see _anything_ inspired by your ridiculous stories about fighting the Dark Lord.”

Harry resists the urge to punch Malfoy in the nose and counts to ten. “As with most things we’re coming across, this isn’t here because of me. I don’t even know what it is.”

“Don’t you?” Malfoy’s lips twist into a grim smile. “Of course you don’t because you were raised by Muggles who wouldn’t have told you a single thing about your heritage. It’s your mirror, Potter. _Erised_. I suggest you bloody well do something with it and get us out of here.”

“Why is it covered?” Harry approaches the mirror to remove the cloth, but Malfoy reaches out and grabs his wrist.

“You shouldn’t. It’s bad luck.”

“You’re joking.” Harry raises his eyebrows in Malfoy’s direction. “We’re trapped in a story with no way of getting to the end and you’re telling me a mirror covered with a cloth is bad luck? I’m prepared to take my chances.”

Harry yanks off the cloth and a lone sunbeam catches on the glass, the light momentarily obscuring the image in the mirror.

“It’s bad luck, why won’t you listen?” Malfoy’s cheeks flush with anger and he stares at the mirror, transfixed. “It’s Pureblood tradition to cover mirrors during periods of mourning. The stories say that the soul of the deceased lingers after death and can get trapped in the reflection. You should never uncover a mirror like that.”

“Come on, Malfoy.” Harry snorts but looks warily at the mirror. “You know better than to believe in superstitions by now, I reckon. Besides, no one has died. It’s just us here – us and Padfoot.”

“And where is he, this great mutt of yours?” Malfoy looks around the clearing and then back at Harry. “Not anywhere close by if you’re hoping he can help.”

“We don’t need help because there’s nothing wrong with the mirror.” Concerned by the loss of Padfoot, Harry swallows at the ornate velvet hangings parted over the mottled glass. The image calls to mind memories of the Department of Mysteries and on a gust of wind he almost thinks he can hear Bellatrix laugh.

Malfoy shifts closer to Harry and their reflections stare back at them, unblinking. “Can’t you do something with it? I thought you said it helped you last time.”

“Not this mirror.” Harry looks at the inscription on the top of the mirror and shakes his head slowly. “This isn’t Erised.”

“And that’s not any Latin I understand.” Malfoy mouths the inscription once and then twice. “ _Sluos ded nuot safoec nelis eht sis iht_. I don’t even recognise the language.”

“That’s because it’s just English. English written backwards.”

“Yes.” Malfoy’s face pales and he points at the mirror. “Harry…”

Harry looks at their reflections. The two men in the mirror slowly extend their hands to one another and hold on tightly. Harry flinches back from the mirror and his reflection smiles.

“We need to get out of here. This isn’t good. I don’t believe this can be good.”

Malfoy nods and he looks away from the mirror, visibly having to use considerable force to look away. He begins to pace and Harry falls into step beside him.

“Did you see? My fingers…they were different.” Malfoy extends his hand and when it trembles he stuffs it into his pocket. “Never mind, keep walking.”

When Harry looks back over his shoulder, the cloth he had thrown to the floor covers the mirror once more.

 

A snuffle sounds behind Harry and he turns to see Padfoot bounding after them with a bark. The sight of a familiar creature eases Harry’s frayed nerves and he bends by a nearby stream to give Padfoot some water.

“He doesn’t exactly seem to come when he’s needed.” Malfoy sniffs.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Harry breathes easily for the first time since their encounter with the mirror. “It’s nearly nightfall. I’d say he’s come at just the right time.”

“How do we know he can be trusted?” Malfoy eyes Padfoot with suspicion, and Padfoot responds with a growl and a low _ruff_ of indignation.

“Because he’s mine.” Harry scratches Padfoot behind the ears and runs his hand through the shaggy fur. “He’s supposed to help. That’s what I put him here for – to guide the reader in the right direction if they get stuck.”

“Even when everything you put in place is totally fucked up you’re still prepared to trust him,” Malfoy questions.

“Yes.” Harry nods, firmly. “I am.”

“ _Fine_.” Malfoy pulls off his robes and settles them down on the floor, casting a couple of spells to make the ground more comfortable. “It’s getting dark. We need to find something to eat and then sleep.”

Padfoot bounds into the forest as Malfoy speaks. When he comes back, he’s clutching a rabbit in his jaws and Malfoy grimaces in response to the offering.

“I take it you’re not the sort to skin a rabbit?” Harry rolls his eyes at Malfoy’s horrified expression. “Malfoy, you spent a whole year trying to kill someone.”

“I couldn’t go through with it though,” Malfoy mutters.

“Yes, but seriously. A rabbit?” With a sigh, Harry picks up the animal and crouches down. “If it makes you feel better he was killed humanely by the looks of things. No visible marks or anything.”

“Wonderful.” Malfoy sits on his robes and folds his arms. “I’ll eat much more easily now I know there is absolutely no explanation for the food that has conveniently dropped into your lap.”

“We have no choice.” Harry gestures to Malfoy. “Make yourself useful and sort out a fire and some kind of cooking pot.”

“Tomorrow we’ll stick to berries.”

With an annoyed curse, Malfoy begins to gather firewood and Harry gets to work.

 

“I don’t suppose you’ve figured it out, yet?”

Full and very satisfied with his surprisingly good stew, Harry tips his head to look at Malfoy. “Figured it out?”

“The mirror.” The food seems to have put Padfoot in Malfoy’s good books. He brushes his fingers through Padfoot’s fur while he sleeps. “I don’t suppose you’ve deciphered the inscription.”

“No, I’m sure you don’t think I have.” Harry keeps quiet and stretches his legs out, crossing them at the ankles. “You’re wrong, for what it’s worth.”

“Is that right?” Malfoy arches his eyebrow at Harry. “Go on, then.”

“Mirror of Souls.” Harry frowns. “I saw it straight away, but I didn’t want to admit that perhaps you were right about the cloth.”

“I was definitely right about the cloth, you idiot.” Malfoy snorts. “ _Sluos ded nuot safoec nelis eht sis iht_ \- this is the silence of astounded souls. I have no idea what that means.” His eyes narrow as he contemplates Harry. “Do you?”

“No.” Harry shakes his head and suppresses a shiver when he thinks about the two silent, mournful looking figures stretching out their hands together and the sly smile his own reflection gave him before he could look away. “I have no idea at all.”

“You sleep first tonight.” Malfoy looks around and stroking Padfoot’s fur. “Your godfather seems too comfortable to move now.”

“I don’t expect him to turn into Sirius anytime soon. More’s the pity.” Harry gives Padfoot a fond look, a wave of sadness washing over him.

“Who knows with this bloody place,” Malfoy mutters. “Sleep. I won’t be able to stay up all night.”

“Will do.” Harry gives Malfoy a small salute and shuffles down onto the robes. He closes his eyes and falls asleep within moments.

 

“How much longer are we going to have to do this?” Malfoy begins to snap at Harry almost as soon as he wakes up. He grabs his robes from the floor and casts a cleaning charm over them before shrinking them down to put in his pocket.

“I don’t know – this isn’t my fault.”

“Forgive me if I beg to differ.”

Harry grits his teeth, his patience already wearing thin having been keeping watch for several hours already. He swallows back a flicker of disappointment at Malfoy’s change in temperament and points ahead. “Disagree all you like. Let’s just get going. The sooner we get to the castle, the sooner we can get out of here.”

“Why does it still look so dark?” Malfoy looks upwards with a frown. “It’s still the middle of the day.”

“I don’t know. Let’s just get going.” Harry looks around and frowns. “No Padfoot?”

“He’s probably gone to kill more game.” Malfoy pulls a face and starts walking. “I think we should change our path.”

“We’ve come too far along this one now. Besides, I don’t particularly want to go back the way we came.”

“Because of the mirror?” Malfoy gives Harry a quick, curious look.

“That too. I also don’t think it’s going to be any use going back to the beginning of the story. We need to get to the end. There’s no going back now.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” Malfoy’s morose expression resonates with Harry who wonders if he’ll ever be happy again. The thought sends a stab of fear through his heart and he swallows thickly, looking back at the sky.

“Malfoy…”

“What?” Malfoy’s tone is crisp and angry, his mood vastly changed from the easy conversation of the previous night.

“Those aren’t rainclouds.”

The realisation hits Malfoy almost as soon as Harry finishes speaking, and his face pales. “ _Dementors_.” Malfoy breathes out the word, his voice shaking and he shifts closer to Harry. “I can’t…I can’t cast a Patronus. I’ve never been able to.”

“It’s all right.” Harry looks at the clouds as they move closer, using all of his strength to fight against the dark fog of depression which rips the breath from his lungs and makes him stumble. “I can.”

“You _faint_ around Dementors.” Malfoy replies, incredulous.

“Yes, which is why I bloody well learned to defend myself around them. For fuck’s sake, Malfoy. I need to think about something happy. Stop distracting me.”

“What exactly is it that makes the great Harry Potter happy? The memory of wanking in the shower this morning, I suppose.”

“Shut _up_!” Harry turns to Malfoy, his body hot with anger. “It’s none of your business. I don’t understand why you give two hoots about my sex life. You do this all the time – make assumptions about how many people I’ve fucked, how many people have fucked me – we’re not doing this. I’m not doing _this_ with _you_ anymore.”

“No?” Malfoy’s face settles into a cold, angry stare and his eyes flash as he tips his chin in defiance. “You’re the one that sought me out – it’s your stupid, romantic plans that got us into this mess in the first place. You think you’re such a _good_ person, so morally strong and brave and the rest of us are nothing. Well I think _you’re_ nothing. You let someone you claim to despise suck you off in the middle of a Muggle club and if you do fuck _anyone_ it’s people that don’t even matter. You never tell people about that, I bet – let them think you’re still pining over Ginevra Weasley or some such rot. Don’t let them think you’re anything less than a hero, isn’t that right, _Harry_?”

“I hate you. I fucking _hate_ you.”

“No, you don’t. But tell yourself that if it makes you feel better.” Malfoy sneers and presses his face close enough that Harry can smell the scent of peppermint and cigarettes on his breath. “You’re scared to be queer, I bet. That’s why you go to Muggle clubs and never bother with anyone too close to home. The big brave war hero frightened to come out from his cupboard under the bloody stairs.”

Harry startles and he stares at Malfoy, before letting out a brittle laugh which sounds unfamiliar to his ears as the thunder claps in the distance. “You don’t know me at all. I can’t just go out for dinner with any like-minded wizard I meet. It would be all over the _Prophet_ with Skeeter writing about my particulars, and people saying I have a small cock or can’t perform properly. I don’t trust anyone from our world with that stuff – not yet, not unless I know them. Building that kind of trust doesn’t just happen overnight. _That’s_ why it’s Muggles.”

Malfoy’s breathing steadies and he shifts back. “You trusted me.”

Harry shrugs, his temper dissipating. “I suppose I did. I didn’t think you’d want to do a kiss and tell, to be honest.”

“I don’t.” Malfoy pauses and his face cracks into a hesitant smile. “I also wouldn’t have said you had a small cock. For the record.”

Harry blinks at Malfoy and then, before he can stop himself, he bursts out laughing. Malfoy looks startled and then follows shortly after until Harry almost can’t breathe for laughing so hard.

“You’re a prize bloody prat.”

“And you’re a sanctimonious arse.” Malfoy flashes Harry a smile. “Better try and remember that night.”

“Why?” Harry smiles back at Malfoy, itching to smooth his hair back from his face.

“Dementors, you idiot.” Malfoy points behind Harry.

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” Harry whirls around and a large stag leaves the tip of his wand, throwing the approaching Dementors back and shielding him and Malfoy from their advance. He tugs Malfoy with him, running as fast as he can until they both collapse in a safe spot of the forest which feels warm and safe. “I know this.” Harry brings his hand to the tree, with its large knobbled boughs. “The Whomping Willow. But it doesn’t move, not like the one at Hogwarts,” he adds quickly when Malfoy looks as if he’s about to bolt.

“Then maybe we’re finally getting somewhere.” Malfoy flops to the ground and leans back against the tree, closing his eyes. “My hero.”

Harry begins to respond flippantly, but in the end he decides to leave it be. He settles down next to Malfoy and nudges him lightly. “We’ll get to the end. We’re nearly there, I can feel it.”

Malfoy’s lips curl into a smile but he doesn’t look at Harry. “You’re a terrible liar, you know. Although I have to admire your resilience.”

“If we lose that, we don’t have anything left anymore.” Harry’s good mood fades and he pockets his wand. He hears a snuffling and turns to see Padfoot coming out of the shadows, dropping his head into Harry’s lap with a comforting whine. “See? There’s always hope.”

“If you say so.” Malfoy yawns.

Harry strokes his fingers through Padfoot’s fur and hears an owl hooting in the distance. He closes his eyes for a moment in an effort to steady his racing heart.

“Sleep now. I’ll take the second shift.”

But Malfoy doesn’t respond, and when Harry turns to look at him his lips are parted in a soft snore.

 

When his eyelids begin to droop, Harry nudges Malfoy awake. “Malfoy. I need to sleep.”

“Then sleep, Potter.” Malfoy yawns and turns on his side, his back pointedly directed at Harry.

“I need you to keep watch.”

“ _Fine_.” Malfoy turns and blinks his eyes open slowly, fixing Harry with an irritated glare. “What time is it?”

“No idea. About three in the morning, I’d say. There’s no sign of the sun.”

“Oh…” Malfoy looks around the forest and shivers. “Well sleep, then. I’m awake now.”

“Thanks.” Exhausted, Harry shifts onto Malfoy’s robes and curls up tightly for warmth.

“Potter?” Despite being half asleep already, Harry turns to see Malfoy looking nervously around the forest. “Come over here. You’ll be warmer.”

Too knackered to protest or even question Malfoy’s suggestion, Harry moves next to Malfoy. He pillows his head in Malfoy’s lap and Malfoy arranges the robes around his body.

Harry falls asleep to the light, comforting touch of a hand moving through his hair.

 

_The last people standing at the end of the night_

 

“Potter! Wake the fuck up.”

Harry’s sure he can’t have been asleep for longer than a few moments when Malfoy shakes him awake.

“Malfoy?” Harry groans and pulls the robes over his head. “I’m sleeping. Bugger off.”

“I’m serious. Potter… Potter, _please_.”

The tone of Malfoy’s voice, the tremor when he speaks and the urgent plea quickly pulls Harry from his sleepy state.

“I’m up. I’m awake. What is it?” He sits up and rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, pulling out his wand and pushing his glasses onto his nose. He casts a quick _Lumos_ and looks around the clearing. Long shadows from the trees stretch out towards them both and shiver in the night breeze, but otherwise nothing moves. Padfoot is nowhere to be seen, and no matter how hard he strains, Harry can’t hear the familiar whine or comforting snuffle.

Everything is too still.

“I saw something.” Malfoy’s face twists.

“Probably just a trick of the light,” Harry says, hopefully.

“What _light_?” Malfoy grips his wand, his hand trembling. “There was no trick and I wasn’t mistaken.”

“Then what?” Harry swallows and he looks over his shoulder, but the forest stays still as if the trees are listening.

“A ghost.” Malfoy reaches for a cigarette and lights it, the tip glowing ember in the dark night.

“How the fuck did you get a cigarette in a children’s story?” Harry glares at the cigarette but stops when Malfoy scowls at him. “Fine. Tell me about the ghost.”

“The thing is, I’m not sure it was a ghost at all.” Malfoy takes another long drag of his cigarette, visibly shaken. His voice dips as if someone – or something – might still be listening. “Ghosts can’t touch.”

“Start from the beginning.” Harry’s skin prickles and he shivers when light tendrils of air brush against his neck.

“I was keeping watch like you said when the dog started to growl. His hackles raised and he walked towards that part of the forest.” Malfoy points with a shaking hand. “I called for him to come back, but he didn’t. After a while I couldn’t hear anything at all.”

“Padfoot.” Harry swallows, thinking of Padfoot roaming alone through the forest. “Then what happened?”

“Then _she_ appeared.” Malfoy runs a hand through his hair. “Professor Burbage.”

“But she’s dead.”

“I know, I was there,” Malfoy snaps. “Which is why I thought she might be a ghost at first. Keep up.”

“I’m trying my best – it’s not exactly clear what happened.” Harry bites back anything more critical and counts to ten. “Just tell me.”

“She asked me if I was cold. She knew I was scared.” Malfoy’s eyes shine. In that one brief moment, Harry’s heart clenches. Malfoy’s expression is open and full of pain, and in the half-light from the moon he looks impossibly young and lost.

“Carry on. I’m listening.”

“She told me my father would be disappointed if he knew what sort of man I’d become.” Malfoy swallows and his voice shakes, just on the edge of breaking. “And she said it hurt. She said death hurt, and that one day very soon I would know just how much.”

Harry swallows and pockets his wand keeping a careful watch for any movement in their surroundings. “You’re sure it wasn’t a dream?”

“You don’t believe me?” Malfoy’s voice tightens and he folds his arms across his chest.

“I do believe you – but it’s possible you dropped off just for a moment. We’re both exhausted, sleeping for an hour or two here and there on damp grass with only your robes to keep us warm.” Harry rakes his hand through his hair and pulls a face. “Besides, part of me wants it to be a dream.”

“It wasn’t.” Malfoy huffs and looks over his shoulder, his face pale. “Why would she say that?”

“I have no idea.” Harry reaches for Malfoy briefly. “Your father would be proud of you, I’m sure of it.”

“Do you really think so?” Malfoy’s lips twist into a grim smile and he studies Harry with a strange expression. “Funny, how you assume I _want_ my father to be proud of me.”

“I thought you always did.” Harry shrugs and contemplates Malfoy. “Am I wrong?”

“We all have to grow up someday.” Malfoy looks down at his hands and rubs his forearm absentmindedly. “I soon came to realise that the things that made my father happy didn’t make _me_ happy. I’m not sure who I would have to be to make him really _proud_.”

“He can’t buy into all of the blood supremacy anymore.” Harry snorts and watches the way Malfoy scratches his arm. “I spoke for him after the war. He assured me he had changed.”

“And you believed that?” Malfoy looks up and Harry stays silent. “No, Potter. I don’t believe you believed it for a moment. You do know that one of these days you’re going to have to learn to silence your enemies rather than fight for them?”

“Your dad wasn’t as bad as the others. He came back for you in the end.”

“My father was _just_ as bad as the others.” Malfoy grimaces and stands. “He was simply a better politician.”

“That’s not what you said in Azkaban.”

“Of course. Because everyone in Azkaban is perfectly sane.” Malfoy rolls his eyes and extends his hand. “Let’s keep moving. I can’t settle here anymore.”

“Fine.” Exhausted, Harry takes Malfoy’s hand and pulls his robes around him. “But when we find another clearing, I need to sleep.”

Malfoy nods curtly and, pocketing his wand, begins to move through the shadowy trees.

 

“Everything will be okay.”

It’s a lie and Harry knows it, but he feels it’s a good sort of lie – like being told that death is quicker and easier than falling asleep.

“You’re saying that because it has to be,” Malfoy replies.

Harry’s jaw clenches, because he can’t die now – he has so much left to do. He wants to sort out his tumultuous feelings for Malfoy. He wants to draw the sun, sea and sky. He doesn’t want to be trapped by his own quest for freedom. He wants to live to see Teddy grow up – he wants to find time to brush his lips against the crook of Malfoy’s neck and see what kind of response that elicits. He wants to see Ron and Hermione back together, and go and see Charlie’s dragons in Romania just to fly with one again. There’s still so much left to live for.

“What’s the alternative?” Harry clutches his wand and turns in a full circle to take in every inch of their surroundings in a vain attempt to settle on the right path.

“You’re supposed to be a Gryffindor – the war hero – of course you won’t give up, even if it’s hopeless.” Malfoy shifts closer to Harry and looks around the dark forest with a shiver.

“It’s not hopeless.” It can’t be. Harry forces himself to believe his own words because he needs them to be true.

“You really _are_ a hero, aren’t you, Potter.” Malfoy lets out an unsteady laugh and then looks around. “The sun’s rising.”

Something moves with them in the depths of the forest. Harry feels it as surely as he feels his own heart pumping blood too quickly through his veins. Whatever Malfoy thinks, Harry’s afraid - he’d never say as much out loud. It would make everything feel too real. He shivers.

“Can you feel it?”

“Through the earth.” Malfoy’s voice trembles. “That thing from last night…it’s going to find us soon. It knows we’re still here.”

“We can fight it. We’re still strong.” Harry taps his wand in his pocket. “We’re wizards, Malfoy. Besides, I think it’s a Boggart – we’ve seen them before. _Riddikulus_ , remember? It’s not advanced magic."

“It’s not a Boggart,” Malfoy mumbles and looks away from Harry.

“How do you know?”

“Because Charity Burbage isn’t my Boggart.”

“Then what is?” Harry asks, curiously.

Malfoy purses his lips in response and shakes his head. “Not now. I’m not getting into that now.”

“Then we’ll walk.” Harry’s arm brushes next to Malfoy’s and their hands touch, just at the fingertips. “Let’s try to get out of this forest while we still have some light.”

“How do you know which way to go?”

Harry smiles, grimly. “I don’t. This way, I think.” He points away from the spot they settled in the previous night. “We should follow the water.”

“I don’t think it works like that when the scenery can change around you.” Malfoy snorts but he begins to walk nevertheless, looking back over his shoulder. His mouth flickers into a small smile as he contemplates Harry. “Tell me a story.”

Harry falls into step beside Malfoy. He wonders what Malfoy would say if he knew that he too felt frightened by the whispers in the trees and the strange, never-quite daylight rays from the sun. He ponders what to say as a stray sunbeam catches Malfoy’s face, giving his skin an almost luminous appearance.

“I could tell you about the time the Cannons won the Quidditch Cup?”

“Please.” Malfoy snorts and rolls his eyes. “That’s not a story anybody’s likely to believe.”

“Then what kind of stories do you like? You’re the writer, after all.”

Malfoy closes his eyes momentarily. “Tell me about us. About our future. When we get out of here.”

Harry startles and his heart thuds in his chest. The way Malfoy says _us_ makes Harry’s cheeks heat as his mind fills with possibility. He clears his throat. “We wake up one morning and the sun’s shining through the windows of the studio. The room smells like ink, coffee and oils.”

Malfoy’s lips quirk into a smile. “I can picture it – you’ve fallen asleep at your desk before when we worked late into the night. I always used to wonder how someone could be happy – even when they sleep.”

“Because they dream about Prince Charming?” Harry laughs and Malfoy smiles. “When we wake up you tell me you’re cold.”

“I do?” Malfoy holds his breath and turns to face Harry. “And what do you do about that?”

Harry’s heartbeat quickens and his hand brushes against Malfoy’s briefly, a spark of electricity making his arm warm and his skin tingle. “I tell you there’s no need to be cold when the sun’s shining and the ground isn’t moving beneath our feet anymore. Everything is constant. I tell you that, for the first time in a long time, I’m not afraid.”

Damn. He shouldn’t have said that.

“You’re afraid?” Malfoy’s eyes narrow momentarily and a fearful expression crosses his face. He turns to look into the forest and shrugs. “Even when you’re frightened I warrant you’re still braver than most."

“Not particularly.” Harry sets his mouth in a grim line. “I’m just determined. We’ll take control of this story soon, you’ll see."

“Look.” Malfoy points up to a clearing in the treetops. The sky is a warm, brilliant blue and a black shadow swoops and crosses the sun momentarily blocking the light. “It’s the dragon.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yes. It is.”

When Harry looks down again, Malfoy meets his eyes.

 

“You never finished your story.” Much later, Malfoy stretches out on his robes with his head pillowed in his hands. “Wasn’t there something about me being cold?”

“I’m not sure I had an ending.” Harry turns to Malfoy with a smile and brushes his thumb over Malfoy’s lips which have some juice from the berries they found to eat on the way. “You have juice…on your lip.”

“Thanks.” Malfoy wipes his mouth inelegantly with the back of his hand and continues to stare at the stars. “You should think of an ending. Make it a happily ever after, if you can.”

“I wouldn’t have made it anything else.”

“No. I know you wouldn’t.” Malfoy sighs and Harry watches him for a while as the moon dips behind the clouds. “You’re ever the optimist.”

“What’s our alternative?” Harry drops onto the ground next to Malfoy and settles down with him to watch the stars. “You were cold. And I had just told you there was no need to be afraid anymore.”

“And I was wondering why you never told me you were scared in the first place.” Malfoy’s voice is light, teasing, and his fingers brush Harry’s lightly. “Idiotic Gryffindor. I’m amazed your Patronus isn’t a lion cub.”

“Nope. It’s a stag.” Harry tips his head to the side and contemplates Malfoy, whose face is illuminated by the watery moonlight. “What would yours be?”

“That would be telling,” Malfoy murmurs. “Carry on with the story.”

“I didn’t have much planned for it, to be honest.” Harry laughs and the sound carries on the wind into the darkness. “I thought we’d make hot chocolate, eat bourbons. That sort of thing.”

“Is that what you thought?” Malfoy’s lips curve into a slow smile. “We find ourselves safe after a near death experience and your first thought is…bourbons?”

“What’s _your_ first thought?” Harry holds his breath and Malfoy turns his head to face Harry. Malfoy is so close, Harry could close the distance between them by inching forward just a little more. His heat hammers and he slides his fingers over Malfoy’s. Their fingers entwine together and Malfoy squeezes Harry’s hand in his own.

“Not biscuits.”

“No?”

“Not really.” Malfoy smiles and turns back to look at the stars, the moment broken. “But a mug of hot chocolate sounds good.”

“Yes.” Harry holds onto Malfoy’s hand more tightly and fights back the wave of emotion which threatens to overwhelm him as he thinks of home and the cosy studio full of sketches and haphazard paint marks. “It really does. Malfoy?”

“Hmm?”

When Harry turns back to Malfoy, he can tell from the slow rise and fall of Malfoy’s chest that he’s fallen into a deep sleep. Harry sits up with a sigh. He keeps Malfoy close, and withdraws his wand, humming to keep himself awake.

 

“None of this is familiar. None of it at all.” Malfoy frowns and kicks a stone in his path. “We’ve been walking for hours.”

“I recognise this place.” Harry looks around at the quaint cottages. His breath catches when he sees an all too familiar path in front of him and a large war memorial which stretches tall into the sky, casting long shadows at his feet.

“You drew it?”

“No.” Harry swallows and moves closer to the statue. “But I’ve been here before.”

“Brilliant.” Malfoy groans and shakes his head. “We’re trapped in a world filled with your memories of Merlin only knows what. Hopefully the Dark Lord will make a cameo somewhere. That would just be the icing on the cake.”

“Godric’s Hollow.” Harry ignores Malfoy’s grousing and looks around. His heart beats hard in his chest and a sharp pain in his forehead makes him rub the scar there for one of the first times since the end of the war. “We’re in Godric’s Hollow.”

“Is that _you_?” Malfoy approaches the memorial and the statue flickers and changes to reveal Harry’s parents.

“Nope. It’s my mum and dad.”

“I meant that.” Malfoy jabs his finger towards the baby in Harry’s mum’s arms.

“That?” Harry laughs and nods. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Look at all the messages.” Malfoy brushes his fingers over the memorial and then turns back to Harry. “You were important to them during the war?”

Harry nods. “I suppose I was. A symbol of hope when everything looked dark.”

“You’re so good, aren’t you?” Malfoy’s lips curve into a strange smile. “I wonder how anyone could ever be good enough for you.”

“We’re back to my love life again?” Harry stares at Malfoy and shakes his head. “Don’t be a prat. I make as many mistakes as the next bloke.”

“Don’t say that.” Malfoy holds up his hand.

Harry stares. “Why not? I thought you’d be pleased to hear that.”

“Not particularly.” Malfoy pulls a face. “You said everyone needs a figure of hope, and you have that dogfather of yours.”

“I see.” Harry arches an eyebrow at Malfoy and grins when he looks away with a huff. Harry sobers and he looks around the quiet streets. “Although I’m not sure we’ll see Padfoot again.”

Malfoy gives Harry a look that is almost sympathetic, before turning to peruse their surroundings. “You might be right. There’s certainly nobody’s here, the whole place is dead.”

“Really bad choice of words.” Harry winces and takes in every shadow and flicker of movement, a thought occurring to him.

“Well, I suppose as there’s nobody else around to help us out, it’s a very good job you’re the kind of insufferable hero that likes to save the day. Repeatedly.”

“And it’s a good job you’re still as annoying as ever. Less chance of me starting to panic.” Harry gathers his thoughts, an explanation coming to him. “I think I know why this has gone so wrong.”

“Because you’re completely incompetent?”

“Not quite.” Harry glares at Malfoy. “I can resist certain magic - _Imperius_ and things like that.”

“Of _course_ you can,” Malfoy snorts. “Did you not think about that before you decided we should test the spell?”

“It’s not just that.” Harry holds up his hand in the hope Malfoy will let him speak. “The spell itself has glitches. We know that now. We have to get to the end of the story to be able to break it, which was never the intention. But it’s because of us that the world is changing. You’re a Legilimens so you’re used to closing your mind to magic. I can resist all kinds of spells which work off the back of suggestion and mind-control. Besides, we’re hardly a couple of average readers enjoying the story. The magic must be weakened by the fact we’re resisting, and impacted because we’re fighting. Think of our moods – think of our _history_. This game is supposed to be played by children looking for an adventure or for something fun to do.”

“Then how do we stop it?”

“I don’t think we can stop the landscape from shifting. We just have to get to the end of the story.”

Malfoy stops walking and stares. “But if it’s not our story anymore, how can we do that? We don’t even know how it ends.”

“Well, you can start believing in a happy ending.” Harry sticks his hand out for Malfoy to shake. “Deal?”

“I suppose I don’t have much choice.” Malfoy huffs and shakes Harry’s hand. “Are you going to tell me about this place?”

“It’s where my parents used to live. They’re buried in the graveyard.” Harry points to the walls of the cemetery but keeps moving. “I think we should see if there’s anyone around.”

“There clearly isn’t a soul in sight.” Malfoy shivers and pulls his cloak around his body. “Not even a couple of ghosts in the graveyard.”

“Thank Merlin.” Harry’s brow furrows as he takes in the tidy row of crooked cottages all shrouded in darkness. The street stands empty and a couple of lone lamps cast a warm yellow light over the cobbled pavements. “Apart from that one.” Harry points and sucks in a breath. “Bathilda Bagshot’s house.”

“I’m not going inside.” Malfoy hangs back. “I’m serious, Potter. I don’t like this place.”

Harry ignores Malfoy and pushes open the door to the house which creaks under his hands. Unlike his last visit, the house is cosy and warm. Once precariously balanced books and thick layers of dust have been replaced with warm furnishings, wizarding photographs and trinkets. The comforting crackling of the fire makes the place feel cosy and lived in.

“The table’s set for supper.” Malfoy keeps his voice low and Harry’s mouth waters at the delicious scent from the three plates, piled high with roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, vegetables and lashings of gravy.

“But there’s nobody here.” Harry frowns and looks around, before finally sitting down and tucking in to one of the plates of food. “ _Eat_ , Malfoy – we haven’t eaten properly for days.”

Malfoy hesitates and then joins Harry, eating with gusto. They eat their fill in silence until Harry places his knife and fork on the plate. He pulls some Galleons from his pocket and places them on the table.

“I hope that food wasn’t poisoned.” Malfoy pulls a face and pushes the plate away. He adds his own gold to Harry’s small pile adopting the same strange attempt at etiquette.

“Now you worry about that.” Harry eyes the empty plate and stands, looking around. “We should go.”

“It’s warm inside, though.” Malfoy looks pleadingly at Harry, his eyes drifting to the stairs. “There’s nobody here at all – we haven’t seen a single person – at least not anyone _real_. Surely it wouldn’t harm to sleep for a couple of hours?”

Harry hesitates, his instinct telling him they should leave. He thinks about the too-still streets outside and the long shadows from the graveyard. The fire casts a comforting glow around the room and a warm light from upstairs beckons to them.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt…”

Harry trails off and Malfoy starts walking upstairs. “That’s the spirit.”

“What’s wrong with that room?” Harry follows Malfoy as he peers in one room, then the second and dismisses them both.

“The bed is too small for two and the other one looks as though it has satin sheets.” Malfoy turns and arches an eyebrow at Harry. “I want to _sleep_ , Potter.”

Harry’s cheeks heat and he glares at Malfoy. “I’m happy to take the single bed. You’re the one that wants to sleep together, by the sound of things.”

Malfoy pauses, uncertain. “I don’t think we should separate. We could take different rooms, it just never occurred to me.”

Harry shakes his head and pushes open the door to the third room. The bed is easily large enough for two and made with fresh-looking white cotton sheets. The room is warm and the inviting bed suddenly makes Harry acutely aware of his exhausted limbs.

“You’re probably right about not separating – as much as I hate to admit it.” He gestures to the bed. “This looks about right.”

“Perfect.” Malfoy tugs off his cloak and kicks off his shoes. He shrinks both down with his wand and pockets them, before sliding into the bed with a yawn. “This is bliss. Don’t leave anything lying around, Potter. In case we need to make a quick exit.”

Harry follows suit, shrinking his shoes and making sure he has everything in his pockets before slipping under the duvet next to Malfoy. The mattress moulds itself to his body and the scent of freshly laundered bed linen evokes memories of being safe and comfortable at home at Grimmauld Place or sleeping in his studio.

“We don’t know how long we have until the owners come back.” Harry listens for the sound of movement in the house. “Why would someone just leave all that food untouched?”

“I don’t know.” Malfoy groans and rearranges his pillow, stretching out with another yawn. “But neither of us have slept properly for days. We both need this.”

“I’ll cast a Disillusionment Charm.” Harry takes out his wand and casts the necessary spell before collapsing back onto the bed and closing his eyes. “I’m knackered and you’re right – we both need to sleep properly.”

“Of course I am.”

Harry vaguely hears Malfoy murmur something else, but before he can fully make out the words he is fast asleep.

 

“Did they come back?” Harry wakes feeling immeasurably better and far brighter than after a night on the forest floor.

“Not exactly.”

Malfoy seems far away and with a frown, Harry shifts to reach for him. He winces when damp, hard stones rub against the thin material of his shirt and scratch against his back. He opens his eyes and takes in the surroundings. All of the warmth and comfort of the little house in Godric’s Hollow has disappeared, and instead he finds himself in the middle of a dark, dank space lit only by the smallest of candles. “I don’t understand. Where are we?”

“If Godric’s Hollow was your nightmare, this is mine.” Malfoy’s voice trembles and Harry looks at him, taking in how Malfoy has pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them as if he’s trying to hold himself together.

“Dungeons. Are we in _dungeons_?”

“The ones at the bottom of Malfoy Manor to be precise.” Malfoy stands quickly and reaches for Harry. “Now you’re awake we need to get out of here.”

“How long have we been here?”

“I don’t know. When I woke up everything had changed.” Malfoy swallows and looks over his shoulder. “I mean it. We need to leave.”

“Did you see it again?” Harry moves with Malfoy, wondering why he’s so spooked. “The Boggart?”

“It wasn’t a Boggart. I told you that.” Malfoy shakes his head. “And no, I just don’t think we should be here.”

“This is your _home_.” Harry follows Malfoy. “I don’t understand why you’re so afraid.”

“I’m sure you don’t.” Malfoy snorts and pushes the door to the dungeons open. “Bad things happen here, Potter – bad things _always_ happen here. The dungeons were only used once in my lifetime.”

“During the war?”

“Yes.” Malfoy’s lips purse and he doesn’t elaborate but he continues to look jittery as they climb up moss-covered stairs to the next door. “Although I don’t know if we’ll be any safer up there if we’re in the Manor during the war.”

“Voldemort doesn’t exist anymore. He’s not going to come back in any form we can’t fight – not because of this spell. Nobody ever really comes back from the dead.”

“I understand that,” Malfoy snaps. “Just keep moving. There are people other than the Dark Lord I don’t particularly want to see.”

“Such as?”

“Greyback,” Malfoy snaps. A distant howl sends a shiver down Harry’s spine and he follows Malfoy quickly up the steps. “You and your bloody werewolf.”

“I meant to draw Moony – Professor Lupin, I mean.”

“Yes, but you meant to draw a lot of things. Sunlight, and flowers and a world where night never comes.” Malfoy snorts and looks around the hallway as the door to the dungeons opens with a creak. “It hasn’t exactly turned out like that, has it?”

“No, I suppose not.” Harry clutches his wand tightly at the thought of Greyback roaming the corridors of the Manor.

“Hello, Draco.” A tall painting in the hallway shifts and an unfamiliar woman turns and smiles at Harry and Malfoy. “Welcome home.”

Malfoy draws himself up to his full height and only the whiteness of his knuckles give him away as he clenches his fingers around his wand. “Hello, Grandmother.”

“Your father’s here.” The lady smiles at Malfoy, and Harry takes in the slender curve of her neck and the opulent red and black robes. He casts a glance at Malfoy who has paled further at the mention of his father and he looks nervously down the hallway for the sound of anything moving in the shadows.

“Father?” Malfoy swallows and pockets his wand. “Where is he?”

“They’re having their sport with him.” The woman in the portrait laughs and leans closer, her voice a whisper. “Lucius is with the big bad wolf.”

A growl resonates through the house and Malfoy looks at Harry, his eyes wide.

“We need to go. We need to be anywhere but here.”

“There, there. Don’t be afraid.” Malfoy’s grandmother looks down her nose at Harry and then pulls her lips into a strange smile. “Are you afraid, Harry Potter?”

“Don’t talk to him like that.” Malfoy’s cheeks flush and he keeps close to Harry’s side, their shoulders brushing together. “He’s braver than any Malfoy I’ve ever met.”

The woman in the portrait laughs. “I can see that, Draco. I can see his soul. Keep close and don’t let him out of your sight. It would be such a shame for anything to happen to someone so pure of heart, if not of blood.”

Malfoy gives the portrait one last look and swallows thickly. He begins to move swiftly through the corridors. “Come on, Potter. Don’t dawdle.”

With one last look at the painting, Harry follows Malfoy as quickly as he can.

 

“Well, it was nice to meet your grandmother.” Harry pulls a face and hauls himself up onto the kitchen counter, looking around. “Nice lady.”

Malfoy snorts. “That painting used to be the bane of my life. I never got on with her, even when I was young. Too many riddles and running commentary about Mudbloods.”

Harry frowns at the use of the term but Malfoy ignores the look, and busies himself in the kitchen looking in various cupboards.

“This place is huge. Why on earth did you need this much food for three people?”

“Mother liked to host dinner parties.” Malfoy puts the kettle on the stove and flicks the door closed, locking it with his wand. “Of course during the war it was a lot more than three people here. We should be safe for now.”

“A cup of tea?” Harry can’t help but smile at the understated reaction to being trapped in the Manor with a werewolf. “You’re making tea?”

“I’m not sure what you would suggest.” Malfoy glares at Harry and hands him a piping hot mug when the kettle boils. “We were lucky to eat well last night but we don’t know where our next meal will come from. I suggest we take what we can.”

“Probably a good idea.” Harry sips his tea slowly after blowing on it to make it cool faster. “You think we should try to get out of here?”

“Eventually.” Malfoy’s brow furrows. “I’m concerned being outside the Manor might not be any safer than being inside it. It’s isolated, and we have a large maze in the garden. I don’t fancy trying to make our way through that under the circumstances.”

Harry thinks of the Triwizard Tournament and shudders. “No thanks. We’ll give that a miss.”

“Let’s just get some food and try to get upstairs. We can at least have another half-decent night’s sleep and then decide where to go next.” Malfoy uses his wand to make his robes into a sack of sorts and begins to pack up cheese, milk and some bread. “This will only last us for a couple of days but it’s better than nothing.”

Harry leaves his spot on the counter and opens the door to the large pantry. The shelves groan under the strain of all sorts of food and he salivates as he looks around. In the corner, there are large legs of cured meat hanging from hooks stretching down from the ceiling. “What are these?” Harry looks curiously at the jars full of peculiar looking cuts of meat which line the shelves.

“Let’s just get what we need and go.” Malfoy’s voice breaks and he swiftly cuts some ham, grabbing a couple of cans and stuffing those into his robes. He briefly eyes the jars and then tugs Harry out of the pantry, taking a couple of bottles of wine as he leaves.

“I thought you said we’d be safe here for a while.” Harry frowns and looks back at the jars which spooked Malfoy.

“I was wrong.” Malfoy swallows and opens a bottle of wine, pouring himself a glass with a shaky hand and offering one to Harry who declines. “That meat in there…it’s human.”

Harry swallows and pictures the jars filled with organs, preserved and lined up with macabre attention to detail. He watches Malfoy raise the wine glass to his lips and frowns.

“I’m not sure getting pissed is the answer.”

Malfoy waves away Harry’s concern. “Never mind that, just get the Firewhiskey.”

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt.” With a sigh, Harry grabs a couple of bottles from one of the cupboards. The sound of glass shattering on the floor startles him and he turns to see Malfoy’s face pale.

“We need to run.”

“What?” Harry’s brow furrows and he stares at Malfoy.

The shattered glass on the floor are spotted with red droplets of thick, viscous liquid. The wine slowly forms a puddle on the floor and Malfoy unlocks the door with a flick of his hand.

“ _Run!_ ”

Harry takes one last look at the liquid on the floor which doesn’t look much like wine at all, and follows Malfoy. Memories from his time in battle come back to him and he looks down at his hands, covered with the same thick, red liquid. There’s Snape and Remus, Tonks and Fred and in one, heart-stopping moment, Harry’s senses fill with images of his friends, broken and covered in blood.

“Where are we running to? Was that _blood_?”

“Somewhere we’ll be safe.” His breathing heavy after running upstairs, Malfoy gets to a room and yanks open the door. “Get in, Potter!”

Harry follows and the door closes behind them with a slam.

 

“I can’t do this anymore.” Malfoy wraps his arms around his legs rocking in place as he takes a seat on the bed after casting every locking charm and spell he could at the closed door. “This is my _room_ , Potter – my house – but everyone here is dead and there’s blood in the cellars instead of wine. There’s nobody here to help.”

“I think the daydream charm is picking up on our nightmares. That’s why everything is suddenly so dark.” Harry furrows his brow and wraps his arm around Malfoy, wanting to keep him close. “I don’t sleep well either. I think about the war when I’m sleeping and this is just like those dreams.”

“You’re not the only one,” Malfoy mutters. He buries his face in between his knees and his voice comes out muffled when he next speaks. “Obviously.”

“I don’t know where to go next.” Harry looks around the room and takes in the small stuffed dragon on Malfoy’s bed and the picture of his mother and father waving at the camera during a day out.

“Neither do I.” Malfoy sighs and pulls back from Harry, contemplating him. “This would happen to us. We should have known.”

“We couldn’t have imagined a simple charm would turn out this way.” Harry pulls a face and stands, beginning to pace. “I’m not sure we’re safe here.”

“When the world keeps shifting around us I’m not sure we’re safe anywhere.” Malfoy shakes his head. “I told you what it’s like in the grounds of the Manor. We’re as safe here as we will be anywhere, besides at least we have some food and a comfortable bed. It will do us for the night.”

Harry stops his pacing and kicks off his boots. He climbs onto the bed and pillows his head in his hands, staring up at the ceiling. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I suppose I might as well tell you if we’re going to die.” Malfoy’s voice is quiet and small in the darkening room. “I suppose I might as well tell you that I don’t hate you as much as I like to pretend. Not really.”

“You don’t?” Harry turns his head to find Malfoy watching him. His heartbeat quickens and he licks his dry lips. “You’re not going to die - _we’re_ not going to die.”

“But let’s imagine we did.” Malfoy pauses and shifts closer. “Would you have any regrets?”

“I don’t believe in regrets.” Harry swallows and brushes his hand over Malfoy’s side. “But I might have one or two I suppose.”

“I’m sure I’d have a few more.” Malfoy leans over Harry, his breath warm on Harry’s lips. “Not that I like that idea very much – being full of regret. Life’s too short. Don’t you think?”

Harry wonders what they’re talking about now. The hammering from his heart and his clammy palms combined with Malfoy’s proximity is utterly distracting. Before he can respond to Malfoy, he finds his lips captured in an assured, heated kiss.

With a groan, the jealousy and resentment from the last few month’s floods to the very core of Harry’s being. He kisses Malfoy back and bucks forward when Malfoy begins to pull at his shirt and trousers.

“Malfoy?”

“Not a word…not a bloody word.” Malfoy kisses Harry again and pulls off his shirt. Harry sits up briefly and slips out of his shirt, reaching for Malfoy’s belt and pulling him closer. He slides his fingers over the top of Malfoy’s trousers and moves his fingers lower, tracing the unmistakable bulge.

“I’ll say what I want, thanks. Don’t pretend you’re fucking one of your _dinner dates_.” Harry growls and squeezes his hand around Malfoy’s cock, eliciting a gasp.

“As if I would.” Malfoy helps Harry pull down his trousers and his eyes flicker with a hint of surprise. “You’ve done this before?”

“Of course I have.” Harry rolls his eyes and pushes Malfoy back onto the bed, sliding his hands over Malfoy’s thighs. He brushes his lips to Malfoy’s neck and tastes every delicious inch of bare skin. “You’re surprised?”

“You never said.” Malfoy sounds petulant and momentarily uncertain. “I just assumed…”

“You were wrong.” Harry moves down to Malfoy’s collarbone and flicks his tongue over the warm skin, enjoying the sounds Malfoy makes beneath him. “Haven’t done it for a while though. Do you top or bottom?”

“Top, obviously.” Malfoy snorts and rolls Harry over, looking at him with an air of defiance. “Problem?”

“Nope.” Harry shrugs and slides his hand into Malfoy’s hair unable to touch him enough. “Not sure why that would be _obvious_.”

Malfoy frowns and opens his mouth to say something before shutting it quickly. “You do both?”

“I’ve done both. But I don’t have that much experience, Malfoy. As you like to point out on a regular basis.”

“Oh.” Malfoy hesitates and then shifts off Harry onto his back, looking at the ceiling. His cheeks heat and he mumbles almost inaudibly. “Well, I don’t really care either, I suppose.”

“Changing your mind?” Harry arches an eyebrow and slides his hand over Malfoy’s chest, watching it rise and fall beneath his fingers. “Like I said – I’m easy.”

Malfoy turns to Harry and seems on the brink of saying something before he stops again. Harry frowns at Malfoy and tries to work out the sudden shift in his attitude. A fleeting thought occurs to him and he traces his hand lower towards Malfoy’s cock, watching him arch upwards.

“I’ve changed my mind.” Malfoy pulls Harry closer, his tone nervous. “If you can handle that, Potter.”

“I think I can manage.” Harry rolls his eyes and brushes his lips to Malfoy’s ear. “For the record, I couldn’t give a fuck how many times you’ve done it. Even if you’ve never done it at all.”

Malfoy doesn’t reply but his breathing catches in his throat. Harry murmurs a spell to lubricate his fingers and nudges Malfoy to turn onto his stomach. He rubs his fingers over Malfoy’s hole to get him nice and slick, brushing his lips in haphazard lines down Malfoy’s spine.

He works a finger slowly into Malfoy, taking in the way his body twitches and writhes back onto the bed beneath him. With a groan, Harry brushes his lips to the base of Malfoy’s spine and lower, flicking his tongue lightly over his hole before working in another finger.

“Filthy bastard.” Malfoy’s voice is rough-edged and breathy, muffled by the pillows. He presses his backside up when Harry crooks his fingers deep inside Malfoy. “ _Fuck_.”

“Good, isn’t it?” Harry sucks in a breath at the sight of Malfoy losing himself in Harry’s touch. He fingers him slowly, all pretence at simply loosening Malfoy gone. “I like this. I _love_ this.”

“I’m sure you do.” Malfoy’s laugh catches in his throat and he rocks back into Harry’s touch. “ _Please_.”

Harry squeezes the base of his cock in an effort to last just that little bit longer. He nudges Malfoy up onto all fours and strokes his hand over Malfoy’s backside, watching the way Malfoy’s body shifts eagerly beneath him. Finally, he slicks his cock and presses against Malfoy’s hole. With one swift thrust he buries himself deep inside Malfoy until he’s fully seated. He lets Malfoy adjust, then slides out, pushing back in again slowly, inch by glorious inch.

Harry wraps his hand around Malfoy’s cock as he thrusts into him, getting closer to the edge. He bites down on Malfoy’s shoulder and pulls a shout of pleasure from him as he works into him, harder and faster. He finds himself lost in the feel of Malfoy’s body, the slick, salty taste of perspiration and the sensation of Malfoy’s cock pulsing in his hand. Malfoy rocks back towards him and Harry keeps him close, covering his body with his own and making his thrusts long and deep in an attempt to last as long as possible. When he finally climaxes, he pulls out of Malfoy with a groan and nudges him onto his back.

“Your turn.”

“Close…too close.” Malfoy’s eyes flicker closed and he turns over with a groan. He stretches out and moves his arm over his eyes, a light flush rising from his neck to his cheeks. Harry takes a moment to enjoy the sight of Malfoy stretched out for him, before moving down his body to take Malfoy’s cock deep into his mouth. “Fucking hell, Potter.”

Harry smiles around Malfoy’s cock and tastes every glorious inch of it. He pushes Malfoy’s legs wide apart and rubs against his fingers lightly around Malfoy’s slick, stretched hole until he grips his hands tightly in Harry’s hair and begins to thrust into his mouth.

With an eager shout, Malfoy bucks up one last time and the salty taste of come moves down Harry’s throat. He sucks Malfoy through his orgasm and then pulls back slowly, flicking his tongue lightly over the sensitive tip of Malfoy’s cock to clean him completely. With a groan, he collapses onto his back and looks up, trying to catch his breath.

“Fuck me.”

“Maybe next time.” Malfoy laughs and curls up against Harry. “Not bad, Potter.”

“Thanks so much.” Harry can’t help but let out a laugh of his own and he circles his arms around Malfoy, holding him close.

“I hope you know a lot of fairy tales end with a kiss.” Draco brushes his lips to Harry’s cheek and presses closer into his arms with a yawn. “I’ll see you in your studio when we wake up.”

Harry holds Draco close and lets the wonderful power of _hope_ wash over him for the first time in days.

“I’ll see you there.”

 

 

_Come with me and we will run away_

Harry wakes when the sun shines through the window of the room, making his whole body warm. With a groan of satisfaction, he stretches and reaches for Draco.

“Let’s hope you were right, Malfoy.” Harry smiles and blinks his eyes open. The sheets on Draco’s side of the bed are perfectly made as if nobody else slept in the bed with Harry at all. The Slytherin green, silver and expensive Egyptian cotton has gone and the sheets are plain white cotton.

Grimmauld Place. Harry stands and looks around the familiar room – his room – full of the comforting sights of home, with his broomstick propped against the wall and his clothes haphazardly flung onto the nearest chair as if he never left.

Harry makes his way through the house looking for Draco, hopefully. Even if it’s not the studio, Grimmauld Place is still home of a sort. He wonders briefly if this is how the story ends for them – with Draco back in his own posh bed and Harry comfortable but lonely in Grimmauld Place. He pushes the thought aside and looks around as he reaches the bottom of the stairs.

The paintings hum and chatter, and the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck raise when he notices a soft and unfamiliar light coming from the kitchen. With his wand drawn, he makes his way to the kitchen and pushes open the door.

There, on the long wooden table which the Order would gather around for meetings, is Draco. His body is still and his fingers laced together on his chest as he smiles upwards, his face fixed in a look of perfect serenity.

Harry swallows and takes a step closer, reaching for Draco’s hand and brushing his thumb over it. “You’re cold. Why are you so _cold_?” The faint flutter of a pulse beneath his thumb gives Harry hope, and he looks around the room frantically.

_When we wake up I tell you you’re cold_

_What do you do about it, Potter?_

Harry bends closer to Draco to feel warm breath on his cheek. He could be sleeping, but Harry knows from the story that isn’t true. Draco isn’t sleeping at all. He looks at Draco’s body trying ineffectually to wish again and again for a happily ever after but this time the room doesn’t even shimmer and shift around him.

 

After exhausting all possible spells and charms, Harry collapses onto a seat next to the table and watches Draco’s chest rise and fall. He tries to ignore the unfamiliar footfall in the house and the sound of ghosts he knows don’t really exist.

A tapping at the window distracts Harry from his thoughts and he opens it to let in a small, brightly coloured bird. He swallows as he remembers sitting at his desk and drawing the bird with careful precision. He takes in the colours on the wing and the shape of its beak, and the bright, clear eyes which are all achingly familiar.

“You’re part of the story. Part of the proper story. You’re part of the happily ever after.” Harry’s throat constricts as he watches the bird move closer to Draco, flying in a low circle around the room and then settling on Draco’s chest. Draco doesn’t even flinch and Harry moves closer to listen to the bird sing. “Tell me what to do.”

The birdsong travels through the room, light and pure and the sound makes Harry want to weep. He swallows back his pain and turns when a familiar voice comes from behind him.

“I’d listen if I were you. To the music, if you can’t understand the words. It sounds like a lament if you ask me.”

“Malfoy?” Harry’s brow furrows and he takes in the figure leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, speaking in a low drawl.

“Not quite.” Malfoy’s eyebrow raises and his lips curve into a slow smile. He looks different to the Malfoy Harry used to work with in his studio and completely different to the Draco he got to know since they began to test the story.

 

_Smile with those teeth and tear you apart_

 

“Then who?” Harry trains his wand on the figure, which chuckles and shakes his head.

“Riddikulus won’t work. I’m not a Boggart, but if I were, I would be his.” Malfoy lifts a pale hand and points at Draco’s body.

Harry takes in the robes – black and expensive – and he understands. “Death Eater. You’re a Death Eater.”

“Of a sort.” Malfoy shrugs and walks to the table, his robes moving around him as he begins to speak. “I’m just like Lucius Malfoy. Rich and powerful. The Death Eaters aren’t really the sort of people I spend time with anymore. Most of them were Kissed or thrown into Azkaban. This is something different.” His eyes gleam. “Something so much better.”

“You’re nothing. Just a part of his imagination.” Harry trains his wand on the figure of Draco.

“Again, not quite.” Malfoy laughs and he leans close to Harry. “I’m part of him, you see. I’m the very worst part of his memories, but I’m still Draco Malfoy. Are you prepared to kill me, Potter?” He brushes his hand to Harry’s arm. “I thought we were getting on so much better.”

Harry flinches and pulls back from Malfoy, getting hurriedly to his feet. When he turns, a gust of wind moves through the window and brushes against his cheek and the room is empty and still.

Somewhere deep in the house somebody laughs.

 

“Malfoy?” Harry wakes in the dark room and moves his head from the table where he must have fallen asleep some hours earlier.

“Malfoy’s still sleeping. Or is he?” A figure shifts in the shadows and speaks with Malfoy’s cultured tones. “I don’t think you know _what_ to do, Potter.”

A growl comes from the corner of the room and Harry points his wand upwards to cast a quick _Lumos_. The light floods the room and a painting in the hall laughs.

“It’s the big bad wolf.” The last word takes on a different, familiar note and Harry turns to where Draco’s body lies prone on the table. He squeezes Draco’s hand and notices the way his eyes flicker behind his eyelids and the rapid beating of his heart.

“Don’t you dare! Don’t give him nightmares. Stop it, just stop it!” Harry points his wand and turns in a full circle but there’s nobody else in the room. Instead, Draco’s breathing settles and the small bird begins to sing its lament.

“He doesn’t like werewolves.”

“You don’t exist.” Harry clutches Draco’s hand and refuses to turn to the figure in dark robes wearing Draco’s face. “You’re not real.”

“Oh, I exist. In his mind and now in yours.” The figure chuckles and dips his voice into a teasing, sing-song caress. “Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not _real_?”

Harry swallows. He clutches Draco’s hand more firmly. “You’re not him.”

“I know him better than you, though.” The figure shifts closer to Harry and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “I know all about poor Draco’s fear of wolves. If only you knew the things he’s _seen_.”

With that one word the house plunges into sudden unexpected darkness and the portraits all scream in unison. A low growl sounds closer to Harry now and he grips his wand casting another _Lumos_ and trying to still the tremble in his voice.

The room fills with light once more, and the paintings quieten down.

There’s nobody there, and as Draco shifts in his sleep, Harry brushes his fingers slowly through his hair until he can feel Draco’s heart begin to settle and see his face relax.

“I won’t let them come for you. I’m here. I’m right here.” Harry brushes his lips to Draco’s forehead and fights back the tears which threaten to well in his eyes. “I’ll make sure we get our happy ending.”

For the first time since waking in Grimmauld Place, Harry is relieved Draco isn’t awake to question his promises because Harry knows he’s more lost and helpless than he has been in a very long time.

 

“Blood. It’s always blood. That’s the only way.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Harry snorts and ignores the persistent voice in the room. “I’m not going to sacrifice myself because you tell me to if that’s what you expect.”

“Funny, I thought you were the noble self-sacrificing sort.” The figure moves from the shadows and Harry notices the creature’s fingernails are long, black and sharp. The picture of his reflection in the Mirror of Souls crosses his mind.

_Did you see? My fingers…they were different._

“Surely you know enough about magic by now to know there are few things more powerful than blood.” The creature’s teeth glint in the half-light. “Blood and souls.”

“There’s love, and hope. They’re pretty powerful too.” Harry stands his ground and faces the creature head-on, determined not to show any sign of fear.

“This is Dark magic, I’m afraid. Things work a bit differently.” The creature hums, as if entertained. “Who would have thought Harry Potter would be capable of creating something like this?”

Harry swallows and the creature laughs, before the room flickers and settles again. When Harry looks around, the room is empty save for him and Draco. He squeezes Draco’s hand, resting his head on his chest and listening to his heartbeat. The slow _thuds_ keep Harry steady and he climbs onto the table to stretch out next to Draco. He pulls their robes around them both to keep them warm and buries his face in the crook of Draco’s neck.

“If he needs blood then he’ll get it,” Harry mutters. He thinks he feels Draco shift restlessly and he brushes his hand through his hair to settle him. “Not yours, Malfoy. Never yours. If he needs blood, I’ll spill his before anyone else’s.” Harry closes his eyes and wraps his arms around Draco. “And mine. If I have to.”

For one moment of desperate hopefulness, Harry thinks he hears Draco’s voice.

The gentle rhythm of Draco’s heart flutters and skips beneath Harry’s cheek as he listens to the rise and fall of Draco’s chest.

The room stays silent, and still.

 

Harry holds out his hand and the small bird from his earlier drawings lands on his fingers. It curls its small talons around Harry’s fingers and lets out a _chirp_ , tipping its head to the side and watching Harry with bright black eyes.

“You’re trying to tell me something.” Harry groans with frustration when the bird begins to sing the now familiar tune. “I don’t understand.”

The bird looks at Draco and hops onto his chest. It begins to sing and Harry notices the way Draco reacts to the song. With a sharp intake of breath, Harry pushes his chair back and withdraws his wand. “He understands you, doesn’t he?” With a flurry of excitement, Harry presses his wand to Draco’s temple and makes his quick apologies.

“ _Legilimens_.”

Harry pushes gently against the carefully constructed walls of Draco’s mind. He knows ordinarily that Draco would easily be able to resist his poor attempts as Legilimency, but as he prods gently at Draco’s defences, Harry feels the momentary recognition before Draco’s defences drop and envelop Harry. With a whoop of exhilaration, Harry tries not to rifle through anything in Draco’s head that he doesn’t need to see and focuses instead on the song of the bird which he can still hear in the room.

_He’s nothing but reflection –_  
_Just a mirror in a dream;_  
_Constructed out of nightmares_  
_But his death will make you scream._  
_His blood spilled upon the ground_  
_Will surely break the spell,_  
_But each death has a consequence –_  
_A fact you know too well._  
_We can’t promise forever after_  
_Once you both are saved_  
_But the only other option_  
_Will lead your loved one to his grave._  
_You have to make the kind of choice_  
_Which really isn’t fair_  
_Take up your wand and show him_  
_How much you’ve come to care._  
_In breaking down the mirror_  
_With a violent Killing Curse_  
_We can’t promise that the consequence_  
_For you, will not be worse._  
_So think about the options_  
_And who you most care to risk_  
_Should your heart beat the purest?_  
_Or will you rescue his?_

Harry pulls out of Draco’s mind and sits heavily in his chair. He puts his wand down and rubs his forehead as he watches Draco sleep. Although he doesn’t know what the consequences might be, Harry knows that if the choice is between saving Draco and sacrificing himself, there’s really no choice at all.

Harry takes in the paleness in Draco’s cheeks and takes in his shallow breathing and takes his decision. “I’ll do it.” Harry swallows and twines his hand in Draco’s. “Just like I promised. I’ll get us out of this mess.”

 

Harry bides his time and waits for the familiar rustle of wind and the nervous hitch in Draco’s breathing.

“I know you’re here.”

“How observant.” The shadows shift and curl along the walls and the figure of Malfoy - _not_ Malfoy, Harry reminds himself – steps from the shadows.

“You’re not him.” Harry holds out his wand and keeps his resolve. “Whatever he thinks – whatever _you_ think – I know you’re not him. You’re nothing to either of us.”

“Are you prepared to be wrong?” The creature’s eyebrow arches and he looks at the body in the centre of the room. “His heartbeat’s fading. You can feel it too.”

“Because of you.” Harry’s resolve strengthens. “If I don’t kill you then he’ll never be free.”

“And you’re sure he will be if you do?” The creature smiles and he slides his wand between his fingers. “There’s going to be consequences for you. For both of you.”

“It’s better than letting him die here because I’m too scared to try. Whatever the consequences, we’ll get through them together.”

“I’m part of the darkest corner of his mind.” The creatures brushes his robes and looks so very like _Draco_ in that moment, it weakens Harry’s resolve momentarily. “You’re very certain he’s a good enough man to work through the consequences. How can you be so sure, when he’s always let everybody down? He couldn’t kill for his father. What makes you think he’ll save you?”

“Because I would never ask him to kill anyone for me.” Harry’s chin tilts and he eyes the creature.

“Yet he’s asking _you_ to kill for _him_.” The creature laughs.

“But you’re not real. Just a reflection, a mirror in a dream.” Harry grips his wand and in one swift moment he channels every moment he spent with Draco since this all began, every argument and heated kiss and every single moment lying together in the heart of the forest and looking at the stars. The desire to be rid of the spell and the aching need to set Draco free overwhelms him and with a steady hand he slices his wand through the air in the direction of the creature. “ _Avada Kedavra!”_

The images change and shift as the green light catches the figure just above its heart. The house screams and sighs and the portraits begin to shout as the creature changes before Harry’s eyes. The Killing Curse is quick and easy, Harry’s seen it before and he knows there’s no time for someone to speak when they’re hit by the curse. But because this is a story where walls and roads grow around him as he walks, where wine turns to blood and where birdsong gives him the only glimmer of hope he can muster, it comes as no surprise to Harry when the figure shifts and moves.

It’s Cedric Diggory, holding out his hand and asking why Harry let him die. It’s Lavender Brown with gashes along her chest begging Harry to make it _stop_. It’s Ginny and she’s just as young as Harry remembers, clutching onto a diary and smiling at Harry telling him _he never let me go_. It’s Fred, bleeding from the torso and crying as he collapses to his knees.

“My spell, Harry. My charm. You used it to make this story but you let me die when I had everything to live for.”

Harry moves to the figure, tears streaking his cheeks and drops to his knees beside it. It wears the face of every single person Harry loved and couldn’t save until finally the face is Draco’s again. His face is cool and calm and he smiles, reaching his hand up to touch Harry’s face. His fingernails are no longer black and sharp, and his eyes are just as grey and soft as they have ever been.

“I always said there’s no such thing as a happily ever after.” The touch is warm against Harry’s damp cheek. The soft fingers stroke Harry’s cheek until he can feel the pulse running through the tips of Draco’s fingers which ghost over Harry’s neck and move down to rest over his heart. “I forgive you.”

“Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be _dead_.” In front of Harry the body begins to break into tiny smithereens of glass. “This isn’t supposed to happen. It’s supposed to be me that dies, not you.”

The shards of mirror reflect Harry’s tears, his face streaked with dust and his eyes swollen and red. Through his sobs, Harry is only half aware of a hand in his own and the rough murmur of an incantation.

“ _Beate in aeternum_.”

 

Harry turns slowly in bed, a groan falling from his lips and a wave of nausea making him stay very still as he opens his eyes.

“Thank goodness, Harry!” Hermione squeezes Harry’s hand and leans into Ron, who wraps a possessive arm around her shoulder, his expression grim.

“Gave us quite a scare mate – you and Malfoy have been out for days.”

Harry looks around in a panic and struggles to sit up. “Malfoy, he’s-”

“-Absolutely fine,” Hermione confirms. “He woke up before you did. He’s doing a bit better than you to be quite honest. It’s taken you hours to wake up.”

“We knew you were out of the story, though. When you started to snore.” Ron grins at Harry. “I hope you’re not going to unleash that spell of yours on kids just yet.”

“I think it might need fine-tuning.” Harry laughs despite himself, a warmth spreading through his body. “Malfoy’s really okay?”

“Yep. Just as annoying as always.” Ron clears his throat and looks at Hermione. “And we got engaged. Finding you and Malfoy like that made us realise life’s too short to spend it being a pair of idiots.”

“You did?” Harry smiles with delight. “Brilliant!”

“It’s been nauseating watching them snog at your bedside.”

Harry looks up and meets Draco’s eyes, a rush of adrenaline giving him an extra boost. “Malfoy.”

“Potter.” Malfoy sits on the edge of Harry’s bed and offers him a plate of chocolate biscuits. “Bourbon? You should know Potter and I are shagging now, Weasley. Just in case you fancy snogging Granger in my eye-line again. I can do much worse.”

“Tell me he’s winding me up.” Ron grabs a biscuit and pulls a face.

“Not really.” Harry laughs at the expression on Ron’s face and munches on a delicious biscuit. “We haven’t worked out the finer details, but…”

“We’re certainly not going to practice any more charms, that’s for sure.” Draco arches his eyebrow at Harry. “Although I think we could make a good team if we stick to the storytelling and magical illustrations.”

“That sounds a lot safer,” Harry agrees. He closes his eyes after finishing his biscuit, a wave of tiredness overwhelming him. “I’m knackered.”

“You’ve slept for nearly a fortnight.”

Harry smiles at the petulant note in Draco’s voice. “And you slept for days in that story of ours. I might need a bit more rest than you. This time I’ll let you do the waking up.”

“I’ll be here.”

Draco’s voice catches and Harry reaches across the bed. Ron and Draco niggle at one another while Harry shuffles under the quilts and sighs when Draco’s hand slip into his own, cool and slim.

“Night, everyone.”

“Harry?”

But before Harry can muster up the energy to respond to Draco’s question, his eyes droop shut and he falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

The sunlight streams through the window of the bedroom in Harry’s studio, causing him to wake from another deep sleep. He rolls on his side with a groan and looks at the pocket watch on the bedside cabinet. The hands of the clock tick normally and he can see his reflection in the polished silver, his face pale and tired. He found the watch in the pocket of his pyjama bottoms after coming round in St Mungo’s, seemingly the only part of his and Draco’s experience which decided to follow them out of the story.

“I don’t know why you keep that.” Draco leans against the doorframe and contemplates Harry. “We don’t want any part of that world here with us. I’m not even sure how it’s possible.”

“It’s just a watch.” Harry shrugs and puts it back on the bedside cabinet. “I think we would have noticed demons and werewolves coming back to St Mungo’s with us.”

Draco shudders and sits next to Harry. “Please. It’s too horrible to contemplate.” He studies Harry carefully, brushing his hair from his face. “You’re not well. I’ve never known you to need this much sleep, it’s nearly three in the afternoon.”

“I’m fine.” Harry pulls a face and sits up in bed. “It’s some flu or something. We were trapped for weeks, it’s bound to take its toll.”

“Not on me.” Draco frowns. He presses his hand against Harry’s forehead and pulls away, uncertain. “Cold. Just like you said.”

“What?” Harry forces a laugh, the expression on Draco’s face unsettling him.

“You said in the story that when we woke up, one of us would be cold. It was an odd sort of thing to say, really.” Draco continues to look concerned until Harry bats away his hand with a groan.

“If you’re supposed to be helping me recuperate, this really isn’t the way to do it. I’d suggest tea and chocolate bourbons if you’re struggling for ideas. I appreciate the concern, but I don’t particularly like being fussed over.”

Draco narrows his eyes. “Don’t change the subject. I’ve spent the better part of the last few months in your company and I expect the truth, Potter.”

Harry meets Draco’s gaze and forces himself to tell one more lie – the kind of lie that doesn’t hurt – like being told death is quicker and easier than falling asleep. “I feel fine. Fine.” He rolls his eyes when Draco looks unconvinced. “Positively sprightly.”

Draco pulls Harry to his feet and ushers him to the mirror. “You see? You don’t _look_ fine.”

“Just a mirror in a dream,” Harry murmurs. He looks in the glass at his own face reflected back at him. The tears that streak the face of the reflection are not his own, and he wonders if Draco can see that too. His heart aches and he wants to reach into the mirror to wipe the tears away, the pain of being torn apart flooding through his body.

“You have dark circles under your eyes and as much as I like the dishevelled look from time to time, I think you really need to shave.”

Harry steadies himself and swallows back the dull ache which continues to fester. “I’ll get a haircut tomorrow and have a proper rest tonight. I’ll shave later, I promise.”

“Well, just be sure you do.” Draco huffs and meets Harry’s eyes in the mirror.

When Harry smiles to reassure Draco, his reflection doesn’t smile back.

With a shiver, Harry turns from the mirror to Draco and leans in to kiss him. “I don’t like looking in mirrors as much as you do. I’m beginning to think those cloths aren’t a bad idea.”

“ _Now_ you believe in Pureblood superstitions?” Draco’s snorts. “I wonder if the Mirror of Souls exists outside of our spell. Erised exists, after all.”

“The Mirror of Souls sounds to me like it could be any old mirror, if the stories were true.” Harry swallows. “Which they’re not, of course.”

“Of course.” Draco brushes his lips to Harry’s neck, and Harry closes his eyes. His heart beats slower than before and Draco’s feelings radiate around Harry, painfully. He had never expected someone’s love to hurt so much.

_Are you afraid, Harry Potter?_

Harry presses his lips into a firm line. “ _No_. Never.”

“What?” Draco looks up and Harry shakes his head, not realising he had spoken out loud.

“Nothing, I’m just thinking and talking to myself apparently.” Harry forces a laugh, but Draco doesn’t smile back.

“I think you should see a Healer.” Draco narrows his eyes and Harry shakes his head.

“No Healers, I don’t need anyone to tell me there’s something wrong with me when I’m sure there’s nothing wrong at all.”

Harry wonders if he’ll tell Draco one day what’s behind the mirror, and explain how much more painful everything is when part of your soul is missing. He thinks of the figure with no life to speak of, curled up in King’s Cross and hiding from the light. He swallows and resolves never to allow himself to break into that many pieces.

“We should go out for dinner tonight. Get out of this place for a while.” Draco looks around the bright room. “Perhaps I can convince you with chocolate cake that you need to see somebody if you won’t listen to me.”

Harry tugs Draco towards the bed and pulls him onto the mattress. “Tell you what…”

“What?” Draco holds his breath and Harry wants to cling onto this moment with everything he has.

“Just believe in it for once.”

“Believe in what?” Draco’s brow furrows and his lips part in confusion. Harry brushes his lips against Draco’s neck and whispers against his skin.

“Believe in a happily ever after.”

“You’re ridiculous, Potter. I’ve said before I-”

“For me. Believe it for me.”

Momentarily silenced, Draco turns in Harry’s arms. “You’re scaring me, Harry.”

“Don’t be daft.” Harry kisses Draco softly. “I’m just asking for you to believe in a happy ending. Because I like those best of all.”

“Then I’ll do it.” Draco pulls Harry close and curls up beside him to listen to his heart. “I’ll believe it for you.”

“That’s all I need.”

Harry smiles, closes his eyes and breathes.

 

_Wish you'd hold me when I turn my back_

Beate in aeternum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading _The Boy and the Sleeping Prince_! The next chapter consists of a fairy tale inspired by this story, and the final chapter consists of a fanmix and the compilation of fanart by the artist.
> 
> The art can also be found on Tumblr at [this link](http://phoenix-acid.tumblr.com/tagged/sleeping-prince).


	2. The Tale of the Weeping Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Mirror, mirror, while I sleep, is it you that starts to weep?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fairy tale. Inspired by _The Boy and the Sleeping Prince_.

  


 

Once upon a time there was an ordinary boy and he lived in an ordinary house, on an ordinary street in a small cupboard under the stairs.

 

But as every child knows, sometimes it is exactly the most ordinary person that turns out to be the most _extraordinary_. The boy was one of those.

 

The boy wasn’t impressed by wealth or good fortune. As he grew up he chose his friends wisely, based on the values he held most dear. He chose bravery over power and he soon became known throughout the land as one of the most extraordinary boys of all.

 

When the boy grew into a man, he was much revered. He fought battles with courage and mercy and he always kept a place in his heart for love.

 

Despite all of his friends and celebrity, the boy longed for family of his own. He daydreamed about happy endings and he drew careful pictures of the characters he would meet on his romantic adventures. He grew tired of wishing on stars, and he often looked into the mirror and wondered what life held for him.

 

“Mirror, mirror, fair and wise,

Tell me where my future lies?

Mirror, mirror, strong and true,

Tell me, will I find love soon?”

 

The mirror never answered and eventually there came a time when the boy visited the mirror less frequently. A chance meeting with a prince he hadn’t seen for many years played on the boy’s mind. He slept restlessly and thoughts of the prince consumed him. One day, with the prince’s help, the boy decided to create a fairy tale all of his own.

 

Together, the boy and the prince explored enchanted lands and magical worlds. They fought and raged at one another and recalled the days when the prince and the boy had fought on different sides of the same war. As they travelled, their arguing awoke demons that had been asleep for hundreds of years and the demons basked in old animosities which burned between the prince and the boy under the light of the fairy tale sun.

 

One evening the boy and the prince grew weary of fighting. They kissed until the flames of the sun went out and the stars disappeared from the midnight sky. 

 

The boy had a heart as pure and as good as any in the land and when he fell in love his heart was bigger than most. While the prince and the boy kissed, creatures and demons conspired against the boy – they felt his capacity for love and it blackened their hearts, making them agitated.

 

“We can harm the boy if we take the prince,” they said. “His love makes him vulnerable and we can give him an impossible choice. We can tear him apart until there’s nothing left and then we will live forever.”

 

They captured the prince while the boy was sleeping and put him into a deep sleep. While he slept, the prince came to the boy in his dreams. “It was never meant to be forever, you and me. We would never have been extraordinary together.”

 

But the boy knew the prince was wrong, and even half a chance was better than none. So the boy did as the demons asked and he sacrificed part of his soul to save the prince.

 

The demons let the prince leave with the boy, and kept their part of the boy’s soul trapped in a mirror. They laughed at his foolishness and were pleased to see his suffering.

 

But the demons didn’t know much about the boy’s capacity for love and almost nothing about magic. Whenever they looked into the mirror they felt the power of the boy’s love and the pain when his soul cried. The pain made their eyes bleed and turned their bodies to ice, which shattered into hundreds of pieces when the boy began to weep.

 

“We will cover the mirror,” they said. “And then his tears won’t threaten us.”

 

So they put the mirror in the basement of the castle and kept it hidden away, covered with cloth and out of sight. But the boy’s soul had not been sufficiently harnessed and he could move between all of the mirrors in the world. In every lake, in every tear, in every raindrop and each small piece of silver the boy was able to face the demons and shatter them with his pain until one day there were no demons left at all.

 

And the part of the boy’s soul caught in the mirror continued to watch the boy and the prince through his mirror into their world.

 

He pressed his hands against the glass when they kissed and he greeted them every single day when their faces rose up to meet him. Sometimes he thought the boy saw him too, and their hands would touch on the silver surface.

 

“You are more myself than I am,” said the boy’s soul. “Are you warm? Are you happy? Tell me, so I can feel it too.”

 

As the years went on the boy would come to the mirror more often and ask questions of his own.

 

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

Tell me will I soon be whole?

Mirror, mirror, while I sleep,

Is it you that starts to weep?”

 

Even though the boy never told him, the prince knew the truth and he would come to see the mirror too. He would rest his forehead against the glass and talk about love. “ _Harry_ ,” he breathed, “tell me he’s going to be okay. Tell me _you’re_ okay.” The prince sometimes asked the mirror questions.

 

“Mirror, mirror, when you mourn,

What can I do to keep you warm?

Mirror, mirror, just and true,

Does his path lead back to you?”

 

The boy’s soul would simply smile back at the prince and wipe away his tears. “We’ll love you for happily ever after, and this is just a small part of forever.”

 

And when the prince turned from the mirror and kissed the boy, the boy’s soul knew that when the time was right he would be part of the boy again. Because even heroes need saving, and every extraordinary boy deserves his fairy tale ending.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading _The Tale of the Weeping Mirror_! The next chapter consists of a fanmix and the compilation of art by the artist.
> 
> The art can also be found on Tumblr at [this link](http://phoenix-acid.tumblr.com/tagged/sleeping-prince).


	3. Fanmix and Compilation of Fanart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music was instrumental in the making of this project. This fanmix is a selection of songs that inspired both of us. Each song on the list represents a different story section in chronological order. The art pieces were even named after the song lyrics. Enjoy.

  


#  Fanmix and Art Compilation

[Download](https://app.box.com/s/56fm3u9lfz2xoak84fdm) | Listen at [8tracks](http://8tracks.com/phoenixacid/the-boy-and-the-sleeping-prince-fanmix) or [Youtube](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL1mbiGeT49ADmo8ZgEzuVGV0mFjn5pirG)

**1.** **Muse**  /  _Hate This & I'll Love You_  
  
You left us far behind  
So we all discard our souls  
And blaze through your skies  
So unafraid to die  
  
'Cause I was born to destroy you  
And I am growing by the hour  
And I'm getting strong in every way  
Yeah, yeah  
You led me on  
You led me on  
  
**2\. Ra Ra Riot**  /  _Ghost Under Rocks_  
  
When every little thing  
You own is looking back  
At you and starts to mean  
Less than it ever did  
On every inch of stone  
Skin and cloth  
Made to leave you  
  
Here you are you are breathing life into  
**Ghost under rocks** like notes found  
In pocket coats of your fathers  
Lost and forgotten

  
  
  
**3.**   **Muse**  /  _Time is Running Out_  
  
You're something beautiful  
A contradiction  
I wanna play the game  
I want the friction  
You will be the death of me  
  
Bury it I won't let you bury it  
I won't let you **smother it**  
I won't let you **murder it**  
  
  
  
  
**4\. Lana Del Ray**  /  _Born to Die_  
  
Keep making me laugh  
Let’s go get high  
The road is long, we carry on  
Try to have fun in the meantime  
  
Come on **take a walk on the wild side**  
Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain  
You like your girls insane  
Choose your last words, this is the last time  
Cause you and I, we were born to die  
  
  
**5.** **Bastille** / _Get Home_  
  
We are **the last people standing**  
**At the end** of the night  
We are the greatest pretenders  
In the cold morning light  
  
This is just another night  
And we've had many of them  
To the morning we're cast out  
But I know I'll land here again

| 

**6. Imagine Dragons**  /  _Hear Me_  
  
Maybe if I fall asleep,  
I won't breathe right, right, right  
  
Can nobody hear me?  
I got a lot that's on my mind  
I cannot breathe  
Can you hear it, too?  
  
Leave your shoes at the door, baby  
I am all you adore, lately  
**Come with me and we will run away**

7\. **The Hoosiers**  /  _Run Rabbit Run_

If i've got to be true  
what chance did you stand  
Tall guy, tall tailed,  
get out while you can  
  
Run rabbit run, as fast as you can   
Don't look back  
Run rabbit run, as fast as you can  
Don't look back  
  
He'd dance to your beat  
and steal your heart  
And **smile with those teeth** **and tear you apart**  
  
  
  
  
**8.** **Florence + The Machine**  /  _Breath of Life_  
  
And I started to hear it again  
But this time it wasn't the end  
And the room is so quiet, oh oh oh oh

And my heart is a hollow plain  
For the devil to dance again  
And the room is too quiet, oh oh oh oh  
  
I was looking for the breath of a life  
A little touch of a heavenly light  
But all the choirs in my head sang, no oh oh oh ****  
  
  
**9\. A** **Perfect Circle** /  _Counting bodies like sheep  
to the rhythm of the war drums_

Go back to sleep   
Go back to sleep   
Counting bodies like sheep   
To the rhythm of the war drums   
  
I’ll be the one to protect you  
from your enemies and all your demons  
I'll be the one to protect you  
from a will to survive and a voice of reason  
  
I'll be the one to protect you  
from your enemies and your choices son   
They're one in the same, I must isolate you…  
Isolate and save you from yourself ****  
  
  
**10.** **The Civil Wars**  /  _Poison & Wine_  
  
You only know what I want you to  
I know everything you don't want me to  
Oh your mouth is poison, your mouth is wine  
You think your dreams are the same as mine  
  
Oh I don't love you but I always will  
Oh I don't love you but I always will  
Oh I don't love you but I always will  
I always will  
  
I **wish you'd hold me when I turn my back**  
The less I give the more I get back  
Oh your hands can heal, your hands can bruise  
I don't have a choice but I'd still choose you  
  
---|---  
  
**Author's Note:**

> /Sorry, I had to repost the artworks and chapter 3 - the url for the artworks have all disappeared. >:(
> 
> Thanks for reading! All comments for art and fic are extremely welcome either here! :)
> 
> The art can also be found on Tumblr at [this link](http://phoenix-acid.tumblr.com/tagged/sleeping-prince).


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